


Feasting On Roses

by CaitieLewd



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Biting, Blood Drinking, Blood Pacts, Blood and Gore, Broken Bones, Coercion, Contracts, Costumes, Discussion of Rape, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Extremely Dubious Consent, Flirting, Forced Fingering, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Manipulation, Master/Slave, Monster OCs, Non-Consensual Kissing, Possessive Behavior, Rape Aftermath, Self-Harm, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Slow Burn, Unhealthy Relationships, Vaginal Fingering, Vampires, dubcon, kidnap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 04:16:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12449505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaitieLewd/pseuds/CaitieLewd
Summary: Sans has been given shelter for the night in the secluded mansion of the reclusive and powerful Count Papyrus. But what is the price of such a fine dinner and bed?





	1. Briar Rose

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaaaand we're back! The schedule will probably be a bit wonky from here on out, but I will finish out kinktober one way or another!
> 
> This is day 17's prompts, blood/gore and costumes! This idea was spawned by a comic kolesjoie (previously eli-sin-g) on Tumblr, made last halloween! Here is a link to the comic in question, however the role of Sans is slightly different in this story.
> 
> http://kolesjoie.tumblr.com/post/152514075043/lmao-idk-why-i-spent-a-ridiculous-amount-of-time
> 
> As for the costumes, here is a reference to Sans' dress as well as Papyrus' dinner outfit.
> 
> https://i.pinimg.com/736x/37/82/83/3782838c40520a0fd2aae62b61a28cae--s-fashion-vintage-fashion.jpg
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1650%E2%80%931700_in_Western_European_fashion#/media/File:Medinacelli.jpg

_“mmmnnnnn...no, wait, please don’t—”_

_“Don’t Fight It, Little Flower. You Belong To Me, Now…”_

_Sans tries to move, but the Count has him completely pinned on his back. A powerful, skeletal hand snakes its way up the folds of his layered, lily white, silk dress, picking at panties already soaked through by Sans’ throbbing mound. Though the Count possessed a savage strength and will, he was being careful not to rip the puffy sleeves or ornate, pearl-laden beading along the front._

_“n-no, stop. i don’t want this, please…”_

_“Yes You Do, My Darling Rose. You Must Only Accept Your True Feelings…” the Count leans forward and wraps his fangs around Sans’ delicate, exposed neck, then pierces the sensitive vertebrae before his prey can scream._

 

“nnngh—!” Sans sat straight up in bed, sweating and breathing heavily as he recovered from his dream. Or nightmare? He recalled the predatory gaze of Count Papyrus bearing down on him, feasting on his neck, and then touching his…

He shuddered. Yes, _definitely_ nightmare. The fancy bed must have been getting to him, he decided. He had insisted he didn’t need a suite when the Count had made his offer of shelter for the night. But the Count was adamant he give his guest the “royal” treatment, as he had put it. When he’d served them dinner, he wore a perfectly fitted red coat that went to his knees, embroidered with fine gold embroidery all down the front and around each shining golden button, a fine lace neckerchief draped down his front, and long sleeves with white, lace cuffs that fluttered gracefully in the air as he moved and gesticulated. Black stockings and polished red shoes with gold buckles finished the look. The outfit alone was probably worth more than all the wages Sans had ever earned in his entire life.

The meal itself had been the most delicious and extravagant Sans had ever eaten, and the Count was the most animated and attentive monster he’d shared a meal with. After the fifth course, a stuffed and slightly tipsy Sans insisted he simply couldn’t eat another bite. The Count then escorted him, in his drab tunic, ripped trousers, and muddy travelling boots, up to the finest guest suite in the mansion.

The only building Sans had ever said eyes on which could possibly match the opulence of the Count’s home was the king’s castle itself. The tall, wrought iron fence and even taller, granite pillars and walls carved out of the natural formations of the cavern were the last things Sans had expected to find in the wild unknown beyond Snowdin’s borders. He had originally hoped to find some kind of simple cave or hovel to hole up in, until he was able to construct something more permanent in which to live out his self-imposed exile.

Sans grumbled sleepily and turned over on his side, disentangling himself from the silk sheets which had wound themselves around his legs, and particularly around his pelvic girdle, which was embarrassingly alight and dripping with red magic from the salacious dream. He also tried to ignore how astoundingly soft and warm the down mattress cover felt. This was _supposed_ to be a punishment, for allowing so many monsters to be murdered under his watch as a sentry. Not a reward for running away and abandoning his community and comrades.

At least the other sentries who had encountered the feral beasts of Snowdin forest had the sense to die honorable deaths in the line of duty. Sans always either left the scene too soon or arrived too late—being either the last person to witness the beasts’ next victims, or the first to find the piles of dust after the screams went silent.

When the Snowdrake’s child had disappeared during his shift yesterday, Sans knew that was going to be his last failure. He didn’t even bother joining the search parties, he knew what the result would be. So he saved Captain Undyne the trouble of dusting him herself, and ran into the Snowdin forest with nothing but the clothes on his back and all the supplies he could carry in his travelling sachel.

Sans sighed quietly, rubbing his knees together as he tried to ignore the warm, tingling itch between his legs which only seemed to be growing stronger. Perhaps he could leave early in the morning, before the Count woke up. It would be rude to walk out on such an accommodating host, but he didn’t want to stay too long and bring misfortune upon yet another household. Even if this home  was just the slightest bit...creepy.

“What Is Wrong? Can’t Sleep, My Dear?”

Sans’ eye sockets snapped open. That...couldn’t have been what it sounded like. It was his mind playing tricks on him, a fragment of his dream seeping into his sleep-muddled thoughts.

“Mmmm...Your Aroma Is Simply Divine...I Must Have A Taste For Myself…”

Something touched his shoulder, and Sans was certain he was awake. He flew out of bed, finding his feet instantly as his left eye lit up to dimly illuminate the room.

Across the four-poster bed stood the unmistakable silhouette of the Count. Tall, looming, teeth glittering in the red light, eyes gleaming predatorily.

“w-what the—” Sans stammered, cutting himself short before he cursed. As alarming as the situation was, he still was in the Count’s home. And he didn’t need to check the imposing skeleton’s strength to know what the outcome of a fight would be. A lowly sentry didn’t stand a chance against this monster.

The Count wore an open-necked, white satin shirt, with puffy sleeves, long trailing cuffs, and tight-fitting black trousers with matching black shoes. Sans became acutely aware he only had on his spare clean trousers.

“Nyeh Heh Heh...Don’t Be Alarmed, My Dear.” Sans blinked, and the Count was gone, as though he hadn’t been there at all.

A voice sounded right next to his skull. “You May Even Enjoy This.”

Sans spun around with a gasp, finding himself face to face with the Count. How had he gotten behind him like that?! Was he still dreaming? He slowly backed away. He knew the bed was only a few feet behind him, but he had nowhere else to go.

“c-count? what are you doing here? i-is…is there something you need from...from me?”

For every step Sans took back, the Count took a step toward him. A wicked grin split the nobleman’s face, his sharp canines illuminated by the red-orange light glowing from his dripping tongue and eye sockets. “In A Manner Of Speaking.”

The back of Sans’ legs met the bed far sooner than he expected, and he fell seat first onto the mattress.

The Count lunged.

The taller skeleton was on top of him before he realized he’d fallen. The Count pinned each of his wrists with his hands, easily subduing the rest of his body with his considerably larger frame.

The Count’s face was mere inches from Sans. “So Small, So Frail…” he breathed, eyes examining the frightened skeleton intently. “I Will Try To Be Careful With You, My Precious Little Flower…” The fangs parted, the Count leaned toward his neck...

Sans was once again sure he was still dreaming. He didn’t speak, didn’t move because he was sure he was about to wake up any second now. It wasn’t until he felt the Count’s hot breath against the sensitive bones of his neck that he found his words again. “nnn—stop! g-get offa me! what are you doing?!” He made a few cursory struggles, but was unable to move in any way that even remotely affected his captor.

The Count gave a quiet, chilling chuckle, watching quarry in amusement. “Nyeh Heh Heh Heh...You Ate Your Fill At Dinner, Isn’t That Right Little Flower?” His tongue ran across Sans’ vertebrae, causing the small skeleton to shudder. “Now, I Am Merely Satisfying My Own _Hunger…_ ”

Fangs wrapped around Sans’ neck, and immediately he went still. The Count hesitated a moment, then abruptly bit down, instantly boring two holes deep in his prey’s neck.

Sans didn’t scream—he didn’t even think he could suck in the air to _make_ such a sound. Instead he grunted sharply, then held his breath for several moments, until his body’s need forced him to take a desperate gulp of air.

“Mmm?” the Count hummed. He withdrew his fangs, peering at his quivering victim curiously. “So Willing To Give In? Interesting…”

He opened his mouth, then ran a long, red-orange tongue across the twin holes welling up with bright red marrow.

“nnnnn…” Sans keened, twisting under the Count’s grip. He closed his eye sockets, tried to turn away, but that only exposed his injuries even further.

“Oh My…” the Count smacked his tongue loudly. “Little Flower...You Taste Is Even Better Than Your Bouquet…” He leaned in yet again, taking Sans’ entire neck into his gaping jaw.

Sans was certain his head was about to be bitten off. In the middle of his dread and panic, a single clear thought connected in his reeling mind. _is...is_ this _the beast of snowdin?_

And then the thought vanished. Sans became overwhelmed by the sensation of magic exiting his body through his neck. Being _sucked_ out. The Count was drawing the magical marrow that flowed through his bones and held his very being together.

“nnno…” he croaked. “p-please…”

The monster above him did not answer. He was engrossed feasting on Sans’ essence, making small slurps and rumbles of satisfaction as he consumed the small skeleton’s life force.

After many long pulls, the Count pulled back swallowed with a ragged gasp.

 _“Ooooh…”_ he breathed. A tremulous shudder rocked through the monster. He gazed hungrily at his prey, vivid red magic dripping from his teeth, eye lights dilated and overbright.  “More...I Need _More_ …”

The Count released one of Sans’ wrists, firmly grabbing one of his forearms with both hands. He leaned in to the exposed bone.

_CRUNCH_

“aaaagh!” Sans shrieked. He thrashed and pushed against the Count’s chest, but the larger monster’s body was hard and immovable as a mountain. When the sucking began, his body went slack, robbed of its strength and will to fight.

After countless pulls the Count finally had drank his fill. He ran his tongue up and down the length of Sans’ cracked arm, lapping up every loose drop of marrow spewing from his punctured ulna. “Aaah…” he sighed contentedly. “So Delicious, So _Pure_ …” He met his victim’s teary eyes again with a wild grin. “My Dear Little Flower...You Are Pristine And Delicate As A Rose. And Your Flavor Is Simply…”

His words trailed off into a low, beastial growl. Sans opened his mouth, but all that came out was a terrified squeak. The Count’s face was demonic. Fresh drops of oozing magic still dripped from his fangs, plopping thickly onto Sans’ cheeks.

“p...lease…” Sans wheezed. The loss of essence was taking its toll. His bones were covered in a cold sweat, his eye lights were dim and losing focus. He didn’t even have the strength to tremble anymore. Was he going to die here? The beast had him cornered, pinned to a bed, miles away from any help. He didn’t have much left to offer—losing any more magic might prove fatal.

Suddenly, his captor’s expression turned sympathetic. “Oh, You Poor, Poor Thing…” A clawed hand gently stroked his cheek, wiping away the magic staining his face. “Little Rose, Please Don’t Fret. I Do Not Wish To Kill You.”

The Count’s face came close to Sans’ again. This time, however his eyes weren’t filled with hunger. They were filled with...regard? Tenderness? Or perhaps it was simply hunger in a different form. “You Have Sated My Hunger Dear Rose. Now, I Would Like _You_ To Feel Satisfaction As Well…”

One hand moved to press down on Sans’ chest while the other aggressively tore his trousers down, ripping them apart and exposing Sans’ still-manifested pussy in a single, rough movement.

“Oh Dear, You Kept This Here Just For Me? You Are Truly Perfect, My Darling…”

“w-w-what?!”

A cold finger dove between his folds, skillfully rubbing Sans’ most sensitive spots, working him into a dripping wet state before the small skeleton could further protest.

“Look How You Bloom, My Rose!” the Count simpered. “Your Petals Respond To My Touch So Eagerly…” A second finger joined the first, and Sans jolted with a gasp, but the hand on his chest held him in place. Between his exhaustion and injuries, he was completely powerless to stop it.

“no...please...n-not this…” he pleaded, squirming and whimpering as his pussy thrummed and pulsed, engorging itself with magic he knew he couldn’t spare. “s-stop, please, i can’t…”

“Poor Little Flower,” the Count soothed, lovingly cupping his prey’s chin. “You Have Felt So Little Pleasure In This Life. Let Me Take All Of Your Grief And Woes Away.” His eyes shone brilliantly, filling Sans’ vision with an intoxicating red glow. “Surrender To Me, And I Will Show You Rapture Beyond Measure.”

Sans searched the Count’s face, trying to find any sign of malice or deceit. He saw none, only hopeful tenderness and an acute, profound longing no creature had ever before shown while gazing upon him.

It then occurred to Sans there was no logical reason for the Count to treat him this way. If he wanted only to rape or kill him, he had the power to do so without any concern for how Sans felt. As much as the he hated and feared this monster—who had injured and violated him until he was near the point of death—it was somehow extremely gratifying to know that _someone_ wanted him. Someone felt something for him, valued him, _desired_ him. Even if it was a depraved, lustful desire, the part of Sans which only wanted to be loved and needed was utterly captivated.

A thumb brushed his swollen clitoris, and Sans’ head hit the sheets with a heavy moan. Oh god...this was insane! He could _die_ from this. If he came in this condition, he might not have enough magic left to hold his SOUL together.

But...the Count had said he didn’t want him to die. He wouldn’t make Sans come if it was going to kill him, would he?

His cunt throbbed hard, causing his entire body to spasm and SOUL to flicker warningly. Fuck, he was so close...and it wasn’t like he could stop this even if he wanted to. As much as the Count cared for him, Sans still wasn’t convinced he had any choice in this.

“nnnnn...gghh...a-a-ahhh…” he mewled, closing his eyes, allowing his legs to fall open, and balling his hands in the sheets.

“That’s It, Little Flower. Submit To Your Desires. Give Me Your Cum…Give Yourself Completely To Me…”

As if on command, Sans came. His eyes flew open and his back arched, mouth gaping wide in a soundless cry. The Count’s fingers didn’t slow even as his pussy walls clenched down, drenching the huge claw with his brilliant crimson fluids.

Several seconds into the orgasm Sans’ voice returned to him, and he screamed so loud it was practically a screech. “AAAAAAAAAAHHNNN!”

As he came down from the peak, his first coherent thought was this was it, he was done for. He had lost far too much magic. He could feel the void opening up where his SOUL should have been.

“ooooohhh...mmmnnnn…” he moaned, bones going still, then limp. His eye lights faded out. He was quickly falling into a deathly sleep.

“Not So Fast, Dear Rose,” a distant voice purred. “You Cannot Wilt Just Yet…”

Something warm and soft invaded his mouth, and Sans grunted fitfully. Magic brushed against his tongue, causing his mouth to tingle and burn with new life. He swallowed instinctively, and felt the trickle of energy pass through his bones and straight into his SOUL. Wait, that was... _his_ magic, wasn’t it?

The Count continued to kiss him for some time, force-feeding Sans the marrow left on his tongue after his feeding. He pulled away when the small skeleton was safe, allowing him to fall into a deep and well-deserved slumber.

Papyrus couldn’t stop smiling as he tucked his sweet flower in, using his own replenished magic stores to heal the injuries he’d caused. Even after the wounds were closed, the newly healed bones remained puckered and rough. He had been too exuberant in his feeding, the fragile little thing would probably have those scars forever.

But no more, the Count thought fervently, pulling the curtains around the bed shut. He would be more careful with his precious Rose in future. Unconsciously, he brought a finger to his mouth, savoring the taste of the residual cum settling between his carpals. If he was correct in his assumptions about the delicate little monster, their time together had only just begun.


	2. Crown of Thorns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans wakes after the Count's attack, and is given an unthinkable choice to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! I've got a couple of announcements to make before we get going. First, this is technically day 22 of kinktober, collaring/scars.
> 
> Second, this story is going to be a very large saga and I have no idea how long it's going to last. Thanks to Ravvi this idea has simply exploded, so take this 10k word chapter to get things set up.
> 
> Third, I WILL finish out the rest of kinktober, but I NEED to stop abandoning my YouTube channel, so the rest of the stories are going to take a backseat to that. I have no idea how long it will take them to make, but rest assured they will all come out. I at least have ideas for all of them in place, and some are even outlined/roughed out.
> 
> As for this story, I have no idea when it will update, how long the updates will be, or how long the story will ultimately end up being. There's still a lot to figure out there. The next update I had planned was a fic with overstimulation, but that may or may not get bumped back depending on how the story pans out from here.
> 
> So worry not, I'm not abandoning any of my smut! I just need to stop indulging in all this and get back to my youtube channel, lol. It's starting to get hard to explain the gaps in content.
> 
> Also, all of the abuse/manipulation tags come into play, here. Just a heads up! It's only getting darker from here, folks. OH, and I changed the formatting of Papyrus' dialog because long chapters of exposition Written In All Capital First Letters Is A Little Hard On The Eyes.

Sans woke very slowly. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much trouble waking up. Maybe when he was training for the royal guard? Captain Undyne had pushed him so hard...he almost hadn’t made it, but lacking any other practical skills he had no other choice but to join be guard.

But no...he wasn’t in the guard anymore. He left, abandoned his post. He groaned and tossed under the covers, all the guilt and shame from the last few days rising up and threatening to drown him.

And there was something else that happened, too. After he left the guard, after he got lost in the woods.

His eye sockets flew open. He sucked in a panicked breath.

_The Count._

Sans flew out of the covers. His feet got wrapped in the sheets, however, so his head and torso crashed to the floor while his feet remained bound up in the sheets. Cursing under his breath, he hauled himself back up to untangle them.

Once he was free, he stood and scanned the room around him, searching for any sign of his attacker. But he was alone. The only evidence anyone else had been in his room at all was the fact that his pack was missing from beside the bed, his sleeping trousers he’d were gone leaving him stark naked, and there was a breakfast tray on the nightstand which he had somehow managed to not spill in his clumsy flailing. It had toast, a butter knife, a goblet, and three small jars of various fruit preserves.

His interest was first piqued by the preserves. Sans had seen preserved fruits before at market, but he’d never tasted it himself. Fruit products were hard to come by in the Underground, as the plants which grew them typically required sunlight. A few clever monsters had found subterranean substitutes for fruits and berries, and a rare few plants which would accept magic as an alternative to sunlight. But it was still extremely hard to produce good-tasting fruit and vegetables—even a thimble of preserves fetched an exorbitant price.

Looking away from the small fortune sitting on the tray, Sans picked up the goblet. He eyed the contents warily, swirling and sniffing the liquid, as though he’d know what poison looked or smelled like. The liquid was bright orange and smelled extremely tart and sweet all at the same time, a single whiff making him salivate. Narrowing his eyes, he stuck out his tongue and just barely dipped the tip inside.

The flavors brought back to his mouth were _strong,_ much stronger than tea, but the tingle it left behind wasn’t quite like liquor, either. Sour, sweet, then very tart on the finish. It didn’t seem particularly thirst-quenching, but the acidic buzz on his tongue was just what his rattled mind needed to focus.

 _heh, rattled,_ Sans thought to himself, smirking as he downed rich drink in a few large gulps. At least he had enough of his wits to make jokes. He might make it out of here, after all.

He set the empty goblet back down, deciding not to eat the toast or preserves. He didn’t feel particularly hungry, and he didn’t want to be in the Count’s debt by using up his precious fruit supply.

Upon closer inspection of his would-be breakfast, Sans noticed a small folded-up note tucked under tray. His SOUL sent a nervous twinge through his body.

A _note_? After what that freak did, he expected Sans to want to hear anything he has to say? The sentry took up the note intending to rip it in half, and then he saw the name written on the outside of the paper. _Dearest Rose._

Nervous sparks of magic flooded his bones and told him to run very, very far away. No, no, _no..._ did he _really_ think Sans wanted to be called that? Why was the Count so confident he’d respond to that? Was he already in so deep that them meeting again wasinevitable? Against what he knew what were his best interests, Sans opened the note with shaking fingers.

 

_Sweet Rose,_

_There is much we must discuss. Meet me in the library when you are feeling well enough. The lights in the hall shall guide you. I have left some clothes for you to wear by the door. To replenish your strength, please enjoy this small sampling of the fruits of my kitchens. I believe the juice in particular will be to your liking._

_Warmest Regards,_

_P_

 

Another chill ran down Sans’ spine at the familiarity of the note. Who did that lunatic think he was, his lover?

Memories of predatory violation and carnal lust washed over Sans. Perhaps it was best not to think about that.

He glanced over the note again, looking for any veiled threats against him if he didn’t show up. There was certainly an expectation that he would follow the instructions. With his belongings confiscated, he would have to steal some supplies in order to leave. As much as he didn’t want to be in the Count’s debt, Sans was beginning to think it would be inevitable in order for him to escape. And if he was going to steal, he might as well grab some extra food, too...

...Wait, _juice_? Did that mean fruit juice? He ran a phalange around the inside of the goblet, then examined the droplet hanging off the tip of the bone. It certainly seemed bright orange, and he knew there was supposed to be an orange fruit. And he knew fruits were supposed to be both sweet and tart.

 _Shit._ So not only was he going to steal clothes and food from the Count, he had also drank more fresh fruit juice than he could afford with a decade of sentry wages.

Sans sighed in disgust. If he tried to get away with all this, there would be hell to pay. _Literal_ hell, with how much like a demon the Count seemed. If the price of dinner served in good faith was nearly dying from magic loss and being...defiled, what was the price of theft?

Fine. He would play the Count’s game, for now. Maybe he could even convince the lecherous old man to let him go on his way, once he got bored or tired of putting up with him.

He set the note back on the tray table and walked to the door to see what clothes he had left him.

Lovingly draped over a chair was a flowing silk dress, smooth and white as untouched morning snow. It had a deep swooping neckline and short sleeves, with many layers and swathes of fabric crossed and delicately tucked among one another, almost like layers of a robe.

A scowl spread on his face. “really?” he grumbled.

Sans seriously considered walking into that library naked as the day his SOUL had manifested, or just wrapped in one of the bedsheets. But, if he was going to get in the Count’s good graces, he couldn’t offend him by refusing to entertain his extremely questionable demands.

He picked up the gown and held it out, examining it from all angles to figure out how it was meant to be put on. There were no buttons or fasteners, and the criss-crossed strings in the back seemed only intended for adjusting the fit. After one more petulant groan, he navigated the maze of skirts and folds and pulled the whole thing over his head. Once he got his head and arms through the proper holes, he pulled at a few folds which had snagged on his ribs and pelvis, smoothing the fabric as much as he could. His hands snagged on a few brooches tucked into the fabric, pinning the artfully arranged folds into place. It seemed to fit him very well, which he first found surprising, then extremely disturbing. The front skirts just barely brushed the floor, while the back formed a slight train behind him. Still grousing, he tightened the corset strings in the back, tying them into a tiny bow behind him. He was thankful that the process was very similar to donning his sentry armor. The only reason he even bothered was because he was fairly certain the Count would tie them for him if he didn’t do it.

Actively ignoring the full-length mirror which had been conveniently placed beside the door, Sans turned the knob and stepped into the massive stone corridor.

It wasn’t much lighter in the hall than when the Count had lead him to the room last night. The orange-yellow crystal mounted in the sconce just outside his door was lit, as well as one down the way to his left. The way to his right was completely dark. Sans scoffed. If the Count had at least one weakness, it was in the art of subtlety.

Along the vast maze of corridors and stairways, there were many fine rooms, decorations, and furnishings to be seen. There was no sound except for the light tap of Sans’ bare carpals on the hallway rugs, and the inordinately loud swish of his skirts. Darkened rooms and branching halls begged to be explored as Sans passed, but he resisted. He was not planning on staying long. Besides, the Count likely expected him to go snooping. If anyone was going to do something duplicitous, it was going to be that smug bastard first.

He turned a corner, and the hall ended with a grand set of wooden double-doors, much larger than any of the doorways he’d seen so far. They were cracked open just enough to leak out a sliver of light. Well, that must have been the library. Sans slowly approached the doors, grabbed one of the enormous brass rings which served as handles, and yanked it open with a grunt.

Sans had never seen a private library before. The public one in Snowdin was barely the size of a small barn, and half of the shelves laid empty most of the time. He had no reference for how large or small a proper library was supposed to be. However, he couldn’t help but feel this one was excessively large.

The room was all open, and both the bottom floor and the two stories of lofts above were crammed with fully stocked bookshelves, accessible by various wooden ladders or elaborately constructed metal spiral staircases. The coloring and decor of the room were much the same as the rest of the mansion—stately, elegant, dark woods and brass used in the furnishings, with many reds, golds, and ambers in the carpets, and moulding. The room exuded warmth and comfort, but Sans couldn’t stop his shaking bones from clicking and rattling through the thin layers of his dress.

The wall to the right was taken up almost entirely by an enormous glass window. A few glowing crystals illuminated the area outside, revealing what appeared to be a terrace. In front of the window was a stately hardwood writing desk which the Count was sat behind, apparently occupied in reading some parchment. A second chair sat adjacent to the desk, awaiting a guest to occupy it.

The Count didn’t look up as he entered. Sans quietly approached the desk, unsure if it was better or worse to avoid drawing attention to himself until the last moment.

When he was close enough to read the words on the parchment, he realized the text is written in a strange language he’d never seen before. It looked quite formal and freshly-written, he doubted the ink was even dry.

The Count nodded suddenly and made a sound of satisfaction, which nearly sent Sans through the roof. “Mmm. Yes. That should do.” He pushed his enormous chair back and stood. When he looked upon Sans, his eyes sparkled and his teeth opened into a pleased smile. “Oh, my dear, sweet Rose. You are simply radiant in that dress.” He approached, paying no heed to how the small skeleton retreated several steps, circling around the desk in the other direction until he was nearly behind it. “Stunning as a rose, yet pure and white as a lily…”

As he reached a gloved hand toward Sans’ face, he finally spoke. _“stop!”_

The word was sharp and laced with fear. The Count’s hand froze, his expression concerned. “Is something wrong, my dear? Are you not feeling well?”

Sans gripped the edge of the desk tightly. He felt sweat gathering on his brow, and his legs shook so hard the polished desktop was probably the only thing holding him upright. “s-sans.”

“Pardon?”

“my name,” he growled. “it’s sans.”

There was a pause, then the Count straightened a bit, pulling his hand back. “Of course, of course. Sans.” He gestured to the guest chair in front of the desk. “Would you like to sit? You may still be feeling weak from...last night.”

Something in Sans snapped. “oh, _feeling weak_ ? you think i feel _weak_ after what you did to me?!”

The Count seemed genuinely puzzled. “Why...yes. You lost quite a bit of magic, after all—”

Sans threw his hands in the air. “are you fucking kidding me?! you think i care about my bloody _magic?!_ ” He knew this went against everything he’d been planning, but stars help him, he just couldn’t take it anymore. “you gluttonous, foppish, vile, sadistic, _beast!_ how can you even _pretend_ to care about how i feel?!”

The Count looked as though he’d been slapped. “But, I do—”

“DON’T YOU EVEN!” Sans roared. “you attack me, _maul_ me, take my clothes and everything i own, then stick your—” He bit his words off, looking away to get control over the tears about to burst from his eye sockets.

He continued in just above a whisper. “if you had a _dram_ of feeling in your foul, shriveled SOUL, you’ll quit it with this sick shit and let me go! then you can haul your deluded arse to waterfall and hurl yourself off the nearest cliff for all i care!”

The last words hung heavily in the air, echoing and multiplying until they became a chorus of judges delivering a sentence.

Papyrus stood stock still, his face completely blank. The confidence Sans’ fury had bestowed him waned with each sentence, but he was beyond the point of worrying for his well-being. If this monster was going to kill him, he’d at least die with dignity, rather than cowering helplessly in his shadow.

“Are the doors locked?”

The question was so soft and toneless, it took Sans several moments to realize he hadn’t imagined it. “...what?”

“I said, are the doors locked?”

Sans froze. His mind reeled. What sort of question was that? Of course they were. Why would he even ask such a thing, he’d locked them himself.

...Hadn’t he?

Come to think of it, Sans hadn’t actually _tried_ any doors but the ones he’d been directed to since he had arrived. After the attack, he’d assumed it was simply hubris, and if he strayed from the predetermined path he would encounter locked doors.

But he didn’t _know_ that for sure, did he? Because he hadn’t actually _tried_ to escape yet.

“of course they are,” he said. No, there was no way. There was no way he could have walked out of here this entire time...

The Count straightened, clasping his hands behind his back as he gazed down imperiously. “I think you may be surprised. You are free to go any time you want, Sans. I have never said that you must stay, nor have I put anything in your way to prevent you from doing so.”

“no…” Sans began losing his footing again. His fingertips scratched the wood of the desk. “you’re lying. that...that’s not right…”

Papyrus gestured all around him, as though open doors were about to spring out of the walls themselves. “From the moment you entered my home, the ways out have been unlocked and accessible.”

“b-but last night, when you attacked…” A flush of shame creeped onto Sans’ face. Could he really have missed something so obvious?

The Count rolled his shoulders. “I admit last night I got slightly carried away. And I do not intend to let that happen again. However, everything that’s happened since then has been entirely your choice, Sans. You remaining here, coming to where I called you…” He smirked. “...wearing the attire I offered.”

Sans flushed deeper and swallowed. A hand clutched at his front, subconsciously covering himself. Questions swirled in his head. Was this some kind of trick? Or a test? Could he leave right now, then? If he bolted from this room and ran out the front gate, would he really be free? It seemed unthinkable. Someone who did things like the Count had done simply didn’t...let their victims go. If that were true, it would be as though Sans didn’t actually _want_ to leave. And he _did_ want to leave.

...Didn't he?

“what’s the catch?” he whispered, as though afraid to shatter the grave hush which had fallen between them.

“No catch. You may leave anytime you like. I will not try to stop you. You are free to face the wilds outside whenever you wish, Sans of Snowdin.” His head tilted slightly. “I do, however, have an offer I would like to make, if you would hear me out.”

There it was. Sans was almost relieved. Of course he would ask for something, because he had power and leverage over him. Good. Well not _good_ , but at least it made sense.

And he didn’t mess the slight threat in the mention of the wilds. Of _course_ , the conniving monster didn’t need to make threats himself. The unknown creatures and dangers lurking outside his walls were a stronger deterrent against escape than any gate or lock.

Sans gritted his teeth. “what do you want from me?”

Papyrus smiled, his voice warm and his grin wide and genial once more. “I would be happy to explain. But first, please sit down.” He stepped back to clear a path to the chair in front of the desk, holding a hand out in welcome. “This will take some time to explain. I promise no harm will come to you, this is merely a friendly chat.”

Sans wondered if the Count deliberately did thing where his teeth reflected the light around him like a mirror. The daft bugger probably thought he looked dashing, but Sans couldn’t shake the feeling of a hungry predator that was ready to pounce. Nevertheless, a sit-down was probably what he needed right now to recollect himself. He wasn’t agreeing to anything, and he could still flee like a cat out of hell whenever he chose.

“alright, fine,” he muttered, slowly approaching the seat being offered to him, as though he expected the Count to kick it out of range at the last second. The smug nobleman returned to his own seat behind the desk, then watched with amusement as the smaller skeleton mounted his chair, which was slightly too tall for his feet to touch the ground. The chair was extremely soft and cushioned all around, from the seat, to the the armrests, to the winged backrest. Still, being unable to reach the ground was slightly disarming, and Sans had a hard time arranging his skirts in a dignified manner. Finally he settled on sitting on the very edge of the seat, arms and legs crossed tightly, glowering at the Count as though he could slay the beast if he just glared hard enough.

Papyrus did his very best not to laugh. The unspoken threat in the incensed skeleton’s eyes was stymied by the churlishness of his pose and the gentle, sinuous folds and shapes of the dress. He looked like a peevish child, or a comically arrange doll.

“Now, then. Are you not curious as to how I became to be the way I am today? Surely you realize craving the magic of other monsters is not a normal trait, especially for our kind.”

Sans felt an eye socket twitch. “you and me are _nothing_ alike. stop tryin’ to win me over and just get on with it.”

“Very well.” The count clasped his bony hands together on the desk. “My story begins centuries ago, back before the ancient human mages first trapped us in this abysmal place. You seem young for a skeleton, I take it you were not alive during the war?” Sans just deigned to shake his head no. “I see. As you may have learned in your schooling for the Guard, the humans were not satisfied with being able to defeat us in combat with ease. They became...creative, their twisted warriors and mages finding new and entertaining ways to kill and torture monsters.”

The Count’s hands clenched harder, his eye lights slowly went dark. “They mixed magic, blood, and dust to weave spells and hexes with unspeakable results. Dark, perverse magic which I shudder to think of even today.”

“They seemed to enjoy playing their games with skeletons, in particular, our SOULs being so easy to access. Though they seemed to despise us even more than most monsters. Perhaps because we share so much physiology with them…”

The Count paused for a moment, lost in his thoughts. Sans’ posture loosened up slightly. He was still uncomfortable, though that was now in part because of the gruesome tale being told.

Papyrus continued, still harboring heavy emotions in his voice. “Near the end of the war, I was captured with one of our last family groups. The humans had a mage with them, who took us one by one into their tent and performed horrible incantations and curses on us. Apparently, the spells they were attempting had high fatality rates. When they failed, they simply grabbed another one of us and tried again, slightly changing the variables until they found what they wanted. We never saw our comrades again after they were taken. When it was my turn, the mage’s tent was shrouded in a cloud of dust. Piles of it were being shovelled outside and dispersed, like ash from a smith’s forge. They chained me to an altar, and the human began the ritual. Instantly I knew what was happening. They were taking my _magic._ ” The Count spat the word through clenched teeth. “That cursed human mage ripped my essence directly from my SOUL. And not only that, they were trying to keep me _alive_.”

Sans let out a small gasp, and had to stop himself from speaking. He was getting wrapped up in the story, despite himself. The only other monster he knew of who had seen the war and was willing to speak of it and answer questions was old man Gerson. And even then, the battered turtle monster tended to skirt around the more violent details.

“I’m not sure why,” Papyrus continued, seemingly answering the question Sans hadn’t asked. “Perhaps they wanted soulless thralls to do their bidding, or perhaps they simply wanted to see if they could. I will spare you the details of my transformation. Needless to say, that was the moment my SOUL stopped producing its own magic.”

He brought his clasped fingers to rest just under his chin, the predatory glimmer returning to his eye sockets. “However...the spell’s effect on me had a certain side effect they were not expecting. While SOUL no longer produced magic, it heavily amplified the strength of the magic left flowing through my bones. In the moment, I had no idea how I wasn’t dead. All I knew was I hurt, and they’d taken something vital from me, so I fought. I killed the mage and their minions, then attempted to free my brethren.” His eye sockets closed. “...Though the other humans in the camp got there first. They poured oil over the holding pens and burned the lot of them.”

Sans clutched his chest, feeling ill to his stomach and SOUL. “stars…” he whispered.

The Count smiled wryly. “No stars shone that night. They were hidden by clouds of smoke and dust. And when I was done with the humans who hadn’t escape fast enough, blood. They died so fast their SOULs shattered before I could even get a glimpse of them.”

“When the humans were gone, I found where they had been keeping the other skeletons who had survived their incantations. Each and every one of them was either completely mad, or malformed beyond recognition. I did the only ‘humane’ thing I could—I killed them.”

“what?!” Sans cried. “how could you?! they were your kin!”

The Count peered at him sharply. “They were beyond help. In addition, I had used up the last of the magic reserves left in my body after the transformation. I was...thirsty.”

Sans recoiled. “you _ate_ them?!”

“Yes. And if I could go back and do it over again, I would make the same choice. I wasn’t sure what was happening to my body at that point, however I knew I wasn’t producing magic myself, so it had to come from another source. And my magical strength was incredible.” The Count’s voice became very quiet. “I thought...with that new power, I could turn the tide of the war. I was...naive back then.”

He shook his head, as though banishing some unwanted thought. “The last thing I took before leaving that place was the spellbook the mage had used. It was in the ashes of the burnt altar, and completely untouched.”

“After that...I set out to discover what had happened to me. I was no longer the same monster, I knew that. And I could also never go back. After many sleepless days and nights of reading, travel, and literal SOUL searching, I encountered the first group of monsters I had seen since my escape. And the next thing I remember, I was opening my eyes, standing in what was left of that family’s wagon, with dust on my hands and magic dripping from my lips.”

Papyrus sighed heavily. “I did not gain control over my...cravings until well after the war, after I’d gained my wealth from what I confess were rather barbaric acts of...theft. I did help with the war in the small ways I could manage, ambushing small human scout and raiding parties. However each time, I would need to consume several monsters to recover.”

“why didn’t you just...stop, like you did with me?” Sans asked quietly. His hands were balled into fists, tangled in his skirts. “why did you have to kill them? weren’t the humans enough?”

“The humans did not have the magic my SOUL lacked,” the Count said plainly. “As I said, I did try to use my powers for goo—”

Sans’ eye lights flashed. “so why didn’t you just kill yourself?”

It wasn’t a question so much as a demand. Papyrus was taken aback, for a moment. Then regained his composure. “You think that I did not try?”

“obviously not hard enough, if you’re still standing here,” the small skeleton spat.

“Oh, I tried many methods,” Papyrus said lightly. “Jumping from high places, burning, picking fights with humans and not retaliating. Always I would recover, and when my magic began to wane, I would regress into a feral state. And the next time I was lucid, it would be surrounded by yet more monster dust. Whatever beast I become when I am too hungry, it became clear there was no starving or stopping it once it emerged. Not until my hunger was sated.”

Sans gaped at him. “so...so you really are the beast of snowdin.”

The Count scoffed in amusement. “Yes, I hear that is what the locals have come to call me. Very quaint. Not that I can blame them, of course.”

“so _why kill?_ ” Sans asked again, absolutely seething. “how come you kill them, but you didn’t kill me?!”

“Is that what you want, Sans of Snowdin? Would you like me to kill you?”

Sans jumped out of his seat. “no! what i want is for you to make a damn lick of sense! you eat some monsters, but not all. sometimes the beast maims, sometimes it kills. and it’s never _kidnapped_ before, or made people put on frilly dresses and prance around like a—a _plaything!_ ” He tore at a brooch holding one of the folds of cloth in place. He slammed it on the desk, bouncing so high it nearly smacked the Count in the face. “i’ve had enuffa your damn excuses, you wicked demon! _tell me what you want with me!_ ”

There was a long pause in which the Count merely gazed at Sans, hands clasped calmly in front of him. The small skeleton panted loudly, shaking and sweating profusely.

“I don’t know,” he finally muttered.

Sans started. “what?”

The Count cleared his throat. “When you came to my doorstep, something about you was...particularly alluring.”

Sans clenched his fists. “you said i _tasted_ good.”

The nobleman bobbed his head, looking away. “Mmmm yes...but there’s more to it than that. Your character...no, your very SOUL cries out for love. You want to be _needed._ Your motivations are so simple and pure. You do not wish for love to feed your own vanity, or your wealth, or for children or any number of passing things. You want an intimate connection with another— _any_ other—for its own sake.” The Count leaned in close. “The deepest, darkest desire of your SOUL is to be needed by another, more even than your desire to be free.”

 _“bullshit!”_ His fits met the desk with a rattling thump. “that’s bullshit, you freak! i don’t want anything to do with you! i want to go home!”

The Count tilted his head. “And you may, as I have told you from the start. However, you have _chosen_ to stay. And not only that, you have followed each of my requests thus far, right down to wearing that ‘frilly dress.’”

“what the hell else was i supposed to do?!” Sans roared, waving his hands in the air dramatically. Even as he protested, doubts swirled and raged in his SOUL. Hadn’t he thought something like this just moments ago? “last night you nearly kill me, this morning i assumed if i ran you’d find me and finish the job! it’s not like i’d actually be a match for you in a fight!”

“And you could have chosen to die like that, as you have been attempting to martyr yourself since you left your village.”

“ _i am not trying to be a heavens-cursed MARTYR!_ ” He pointed a finger at the Count, who calmly folded his hands and waited. “i just wanted to keep more bad things from happening! i’m a shitty sentry, okay?! i admit it! i couldn’t protect a moldsmal from dry-rot! i came out here because i wasn’t doin’ any good in snowdin. i just wanted to be left alone so everyone else there would be safe.” He looked away, and his voice fell to a hoarse whisper. “...everyone would be better off if i just didn’t exist.”

After several seconds of resigned silence, the Count spoke gently. “Are you done, little sentry?”

Two eye lights glared sharply at him, but there was no answer.

“As I told you before, I have a proposal which might be in your interest to consider. Especially since you have no intentions to actually return home.”

Sans sighed wearily. The Count spun the parchment which had been sitting on the desk to face Sans.

“This is a contract,” the Count explained. “It comes from the spell book I stole from the humans, which I still have in my possession. Monsters cannot perform most of the spells and incantations without a human, however this is one of the rites within our reach. It is the sanctified induction of a vassal. When signed and agreed upon by both parties, the SOULs of the vassal and master become linked. The vassal lives for as long as their master—neither injury nor sickness can kill them so long as their master is still living and conscious enough to call them back.”

Sans looked a bit sick again, so the Count met his eyes. “It is, however, a completely voluntary arrangement. It must be, in order for the magic to work. A strong bond of trust must exist between vassal and master, which means none can be threatened or coerced into signing the pact.”

He gestured to the contract. “This is what I propose to you, Sans of Snowdin Village. You will serve as my vassal and fill all of my physical needs. You must take up permanent residence in my mansion, and you cannot leave the grounds without my express permission. You will be offered the finest meals, garments, books, instruments...any physical pleasure you desire. I will never permanently harm you, and I will do all in my power to make feeding as painless as possible.” A smirk crossed his features. “Even pleasurable, if my vassal wishes it.”

“In addition, while it will not technically be part of our arrangement, this would eliminate the need for me to feed on citizens of Snowdin.”

The expression on Sans’ face was completely blank. His eye lights were nearly extinguished as they gazed numbly at the incomprehensible text before him. One hand lightly rested on the desk, close to the contract but not quite touching. On closer inspection, he noticed the sheet was actually made of vellum, not parchment. A much stronger and enduring form of paper, made from animal hide. The only other time Sans had seen vellum was when he’d signed his life over to the king to join the Guard. Another lifetime sentence.

After ten long minutes of silence, Papyrus finally spoke. “You need not decide immediately. I can leave and—”

“two things.”

The Count’s browbones rose. “Hm?”

“i’ve got two things i wanna add.” He gave a stern look. “you can do that, right?”

The Count gestured for him to proceed. “Given I agree with the additional stipulations, yes.”

Sans laid one finger on the contract. “first, you don’t hurt _anybody_ from snowdin, for _any_ reason.”

Papyrus looked hurt. “I thought I made clear that with you in my service, I wouldn’t need—”

“yes, you wouldn’t _need_ to _,”_ Sans interrupted. “but i’m saying you never kill them for _any_ reason.”

“Do you honestly think I go... _prowling_ around, searching for victims for fun? Really—“

“i think you do whatever damn well pleases you,” he went on. “and whatever is most convenient at the time. so if you’re gonna have me, no eating the people of snowdin. period.” Sans wasn’t completely sure where this assertiveness had come from. Perhaps seeing the Count in such an ordinary setting had normalized him a bit.

After several seconds of gazing off to the side. A small smile crossed his features. “Hm. The Rose has grown its thorns,” he muttered softly. The Count met his eyes again. “Done. And the other condition?”

Sans almost started at the finality of the statement. “u-uh...okay, um. next…” A blush creeped onto his face. “no touchin’ me, except when you...when you gotta…” The small skeleton looked away and clenched his teeth, fighting to get the words out. A hand went to his chest, clutching the folds of fabric on the front of his dress. “no touching down there anymore, got it? you can suck my magic outta my bones, but you _can’t_ touch me like _that!_ ”

Papyrus looked genuinely confused. He tilted his head, as though to hear better. “...The transference of magic is an inherently intimate act. I cannot be responsible for any other feelings which arise—”

“i don’t fucking CARE!” Sans shouted, tears pricking at the corners of his eye sockets. The left socket was flashing erratically. “don’t EVER touch me like that again! _EVER!”_

The Count looked as though he’d been slapped in the face. “I…” He was at a total loss. “I understand that...our first night together was...surprising to you. I only wanted...I did not mean…” he trailed off, taking note that Sans did not look the least bit mollified.

“surprising? is THAT what you call that, _surprising?!_ ” He pointed directly at the Count. “you MOLESTED me! that’s not a surprise, it’s a crime! it’s sick! you didn’t even ASK!”

The accusations hung in the air, echoing off the towering walls of the library.

The Count’s jaw remained agape. A frighteningly long silence passed between them. Many times he looked as though he was about to speak. Sans watched many emotions wash across the nobleman’s face, satisfied he finally broke that self-righteous countenance. There it was: shock, shame, pity, anger. Even...fear?

At last, the Count spoke in the quietest voice Sans had heard from him. “Would...you like me to ask from now on, then?”

Sans clutched his skull in frustration. He nearly grabbed the lamp on the desk and chucked it at the lanky imbecile. “i want you to leave me alone, you loony twat! i _never_ want you to touch me like that again! _or_ call me stupid nicknames, _or_ sneak into my bedroom and _attack me in my sleep!_ ”

Something flashed in the Count’s eyes, then. He abruptly stood, causing Sans to start. “You forget your place, _mortal._ You came to _me_ , partook of _my_ food, enjoyed the comfort of _my_ shelter, with nothing but the clothes on your back and not enough food in your pack to last a week. A vassal owns nothing given by his master. Not his room, not his bed, not his _name._ ”

Sans stiffened. “y-you didn’t give me my name.”

The Count slowly walked around to the front of the desk. Sans took a step back, SOUL pulsing with the sickeningly familiar sense of being cornered, but he refused to be cowed any longer.

The Count’s eyes burned into his prey, looming high enough to make the small skeleton crane his neck up. “When the pact is signed, you will be given a new name. One of _my_ choosing. You will belong to _me,_ body and SOUL. You would do well to remember that, Sans.”

Sans shook with fright, his left eye flickering dimly as though it couldn’t decide if he wanted to fight or yield.

Papyrus seemed to notice the effect he was having, then signed heavily, dropping the authoritative air. “Though I suppose there is no harm in taking things slow.”

He turned on heel and walked back behind the desk. He waved his hand above the paper, and Sans swore he could see letters flying off the page and vanishing into thin air. The Count dipped a quill into an ink bottle, then scribbled in that strange language for several moments. Sans took the opportunity to straighten his skirts, which had gotten rumpled during the argument.

At last the Count glanced over his handiwork, and placed the quill back in its stand.

“Here is my final offer to you, Sans of Snowdin,” he announced formally. “You are to serve as my vassal, filling my needs physical and otherwise, giving your body, SOUL, freedom, and _name_ over to me. You will not leave the grounds of my estate without permission, and you may not refuse a direct order when given. Once this agreement between us has begun, it can only be broken once. It cannot be reforged.”

The Count paused. When Sans made no comment, he continued. “In return, you will receive a lifespan as eternal as my own, with the promise of my protection, as well as all of the luxuries and amenities my vast fortune can offer—within reason.” Sans’ head tilted slightly at that caveat, but he remained silent. “In addition, I will not personally kill any resident of Snowdin village for any reason, and I will not force intimate relations upon you which are not directly related to feeding.”

He carefully turned the document around so that it faced Sans. “I have already signed it and given the proper blessings. Now, all you need to do is sign.” He opened a drawer, retrieving a small pen-knife. “...with your essence.”

Sans blinked, glanced at the knife, then up again. “you mean, with my _marrow?_ ”

“It won’t take much.”

Sans gave him a nasty look. The Count sighed, exasperated. “Did you expect a pact which grants eternal life to be sealed with a kiss?”

Sans rolled his eyes, then his gaze fell back on the knife. He stared at it for several long moments, then tore his eyes away to look at the pact instead.

“so, is all of what you just said exactly what’s written here? or is there something more you aren’t telling me?”

“I can walk you through a translation, if you wish.”

“how am I supposed to sign a contract if I _can’t even read the damn contract?!_ ”

The Count leaned forward in his seat. “This pact will require absolute trust, from _both_ parties. Otherwise the magic will not take.”

“i can’t even know _that_ for sure, either!”

“No you can’t.” The Count leveled his gaze at Sans, then laced his phalanges together in front of him. “Whether or not you trust me, the pact lies before you. I have made the details clear. You know the conditions if you accept, or the consequences if you refuse.”

Sans opened his mouth to retort, but it died on his tongue. Of course, if he refused he’d simply be thrown back out in the cold. Or eaten.

Or both.

“There is nothing more I can do or say to persuade you, so I shall take my leave.” He stepped out from behind the desk and walked toward the door. “Take all the time you need. I will bring you luncheon in an hour, and I can provide any number of chairs, cushions, or covers you would like to furnish the space as you deliberate. Choose well, Sans.” And with that, he passed through the double-doors, shutting them behind him with a decisive rattle, but no click of a lock.

It took several minutes for Sans to accept that the Count had actually left the room. Though he never believed he was truly alone. When he was able to tear his eyes from the door, he looked back at the contract.

Sans brought a finger to his mouth, fretting, cycling through his emotions. He _hated_ that cursed Count, with his strutting about and giving orders like he already owned him. Even his requests sounded demanding. He hated how the Count regarded him, gazing with those hungry eyes, the way he sometimes touched his tongue to his fangs, as though remembering how it felt to crush Sans’ bones between his teeth. Staring at the dress as though he could see straight through it. But of course he had already seen Sans without anything on, the dress was only…

 _Foreplay._ And of course it would be a _white_ dress he gave him. The freak.

In a moment of childish defiance, he went around at sat in the grand chair behind the desk, just barely hesitating. He spun the contract around to face him, not that he could read the text any better.

He placed his chin in his hands, then sighed. Despite how deplorable the Count was...he didn’t really have a choice, did he. If he didn’t sign, he’d be exiled out in the wilds again, _and_ that freak would still prey on the villagers of Snowdin—and probably him, too. It _was_ his duty as a sentry to protect them. Even though he’d abandoned his post, it wasn’t because he wanted them to die. He only wanted them to be safer, and his patrols only seemed to make things worse. Maybe this was penance for letting all of those monsters die to the hands of this demon.

...However, was all that really worth putting _himself_ into those clutches instead? There would be no going back, and the Count could do whatever he wanted to him. It would be a fate worse than death. He’d be the eternal plaything of a _vampire_. His marrow would be sucked from his bones constantly, and the Count wouldn’t stop trying to get into his skirts—pants.

He ground his teeth together, feeling a sweat creep onto his brow. Could he _really_ do that again? Every night, _forever_? It had been painful, frightening, humiliating. He had been so helpless, and agreeing to this would be like agreeing to _that_ until the end of time. Sans couldn’t even comprehend _living_ that number of years, much less being imprisoned that long.

Maybe...maybe the Count would go easier on him once he agreed? Once he knew Sans couldn’t run away or escape? He _did_ say he’d take things slow, and seemed truly disturbed that Sans had been frightened by their first...encounter. Could it be he really just didn’t _know_ how to properly...relate to people? Maybe Sans could show him. The Count seemed to want him to be comfortable, and wasn’t _totally_ averse to change. He even altered the conditions of the contract to meet Sans’ requests. Maybe they could find some kind of balance, then things wouldn’t be so bad between them. Maybe, maybe…

He growled with frustration, tears pricking his eye sockets again. He couldn’t go back to where he’d come from, and he couldn’t escape where he was now. There was really only one option. There was no other choice.

He reached across the desk with his left arm and carefully took the small knife between two of his fingers. It shook violently, so he gripped it by the hilt instead.

So...he just needed to stab himself and gets some marrow to spill out? Looking at the contract, there was a large blank space near the bottom just below where the Count had signed. Sans huffed, annoyed. Oh, so _he_ got to just sign his name with a pen...

_A vassal owns nothing given by his master._

His SOUL thrummed nervously as the cold words slipped through his mind again. He really was about to give everything up, wasn’t he. His entire life, his freedom, his _identity_ given over to some crazy monster living in the middle of the woods.

He brought the knife up to his right ulna, the one that was already scarred from last night’s mauling. He was trembling so bad...he hoped he wouldn’t miss. Sans carefully presented his exposed arm above the contract, trying to ignore the fact that he was trying to think of the best way to severely injure himself. The scarred bone should be thinner and easier to penetrate. If he wedged the tip of the blade between a couple of the thin ridges in the scars and pressed it in until he broke the surface, that should get the marrow flowing. It would hurt like hell, but it wouldn’t cripple him or cause much more permanent damage. Though he ruefully reminded himself he’d probably have to get used to having scars.

The blade was cold as ice as it touched his marred bone. Cold as the Count’s fangs. He tried steadying his breathing, shutting his eyes, counting down from various numbers, but none of them helped. Finally he muttered one last curse, and took one last breath.

_CRACK_

_“nnngh!”_ He blanched, unable to hold his eye sockets open. Once initial sting passed, he opened them again, seeing a little pool of red welling up in the valley surrounding the metal tip.

There, he’d done it...but the knife was still sticking out of his ulna. After another shaky breath, he yanked it out, knowing it would magic would flow more freely, and knowing he’d lose his nerve if he hesitated.

_SNAP_

“gah!” He opened his eye sockets again. The tip of the blade was wet, but not enough to drip off onto the contract. A wet trickle flowed around his ulna in a spiral, heading down toward his elbow.

Quickly, Sans held the bone out straight and low, not quite touching the vellum. “come on, come _on…_ ” he hissed. Slowly the marrow cut a new path, the syrupy liquid flowing around the bone as opposed to down the length. It slowly gathered and beaded, and Sans began to wonder if he was going to have to shake it off. Then all at once, several drops took flight and plopped on the page.

At first, nothing happened. Sans wondered if he’d done something wrong, or if it wasn’t enough.

Then, his SOUL shattered.

He didn’t even get the chance to scream. His very being simply exploded, raw magic and energy instantly whirling and crackling in the air. His spine hit the back of the chair as he clutched his sternum with both hands, as though that would hold the pieces of his wrent SOUL inside him.

He could _feel_ the shards of his essence floating around in his chest cavity. What was happening?! Was he dying? This wasn’t supposed to kill him! He was supposed to live forever! How was he supposed to serve the Count if he was dead?

Suddenly, the energy seemed to focus on that thought. The Count. That was what he was here for. That was the reason he did this. The sole reason he existed. That detestable, domineering, spoilt nobleman. Everything that man did and said was unnervingly calculated, yet bafflingly ignorant. His demeanor was confident, compelling, beguiling. That was the person he was giving his life to. Tyrannical, obtuse, and positively captivating. The oppressor of his freedom. The pillager of his body. The sovereign of his SOUL.

His jailor.

His owner.

His master.

Everything slowly came back together, centered around his thoughts of Papyrus. The fragments of his SOUL reformed, the magic which had fled his body returned, feeling familiar yet somehow...lighter. Rejuvenated, even. It was as though some great burden had been taken from his shoulders, however it came with the slightest feeling of loss.

Someone was nearby, almost right on top of him. He was certain of it, in the same way he was certain of where his arms and legs were in relation to the rest of his body. His eye sockets opened, alert and focused. Directly in front of him, filling his vision, was the fanged smile of the Count.

“Well done,” Papyrus whispered, beaming at him with such pride and and satisfaction it made his SOUL sing.

The Count stepped back, revealing the pact, now splattered with several red stains, already dried but still glowing and swirling with energy.

The small skeleton watched curiously, and realized the magic was weaving something. After several moments, the glow vanished and revealed three objects. A crimson leather band, a small steel lock, and a delicate silver key.

The Count picked up the objects, then presented the band to his vassal as though giving a string of pearls to a lover. The inside of the band was lined with a fine black felt, which looked extremely comfortable and soft to the touch. The outside was adorned with a small steel chain pinned to the band in four places all the way around, each fitting adorned with a coin-sized, glittering red ruby. The deep red of the band did not wash out the jewels, but rather magnified their color and vibrance, causing them to shimmer and spark with glorious luminance.

One stone stood out above the rest, and the small skeleton realized that was the front of the band. A fastener.

“This shall be the physical emblem of our pact,” the Count said reverently. “It has taken a form which represents how you view this arrangement, as well as some of my own feelings toward you.” His smile turned slightly wicked, though his delight was evident and really quite sweet. “A collar. A symbol of ownership and subservience, yet built with the utmost care for the wearer’s comfort and status. I am pleased with this choice.”

The young skeleton didn’t remember making any choice regarding the object in front of him, but he couldn’t deny a sense of kinship and belonging as he gazed upon it. He might not have consciously chosen the exact form, but he had chosen the fate and future it represented.

“And now, I present this symbol to you, my vassal,” the Count said, his voice soft, yet deep and heavy with formality and ritual. “Take it with the assurance of my undying loyalty to this covenant between us. And the promise of my ardent and unceasing love.”

Papyrus looped the collar around the small skeleton’s neck, whose eye sockets were wide with wonder and trepidation. He wondered if he should say anything in response. He wondered if he _could_ say anything. He hadn’t made a sound since he’d signed the pact, and he wasn’t sure he remembered how. What did he want to say to this monster? What even was his own _name?_

Before his fears could grow any further, the tiny lock was looped around the ends of the fastener just below the center ruby and shut with a decisive _click._ Another wave of magic brushed him, though much gentler than the cyclone from before.

“And now, I name you, my faithful vassal. From this moment forward, for now and forever, the only name you shall ever know, is Rose.”

He gasped. _Rose._ Of course. That was his name. None other mattered. His SOUL hadn’t shattered, it had been reforged, linked with his master’s. It was only fitting that his old name would disappear with that version of himself.

“It’s perfect,” the Count breathed. “Do you want to see how you look, my Rose? It is simply _radiant_.” He reached into a lower drawer in the desk, pulling out a looking glass mounted in a brass frame with an ornate handle. “I could not have chosen a better look myself.”

The Count handed the looking glass to Rose, and he stared in wonder at his reflection. His face was exactly how he’d remembered. Same skull, same large eye sockets, same perpetual smile from the configuration of his skeletal features. He saw how the dress looked on him for the first time. It was surprising, very different from the peasant and sentry garb he was used to, but he was now or less indifferent to the garment’s feminine appearance. It was very finely made, and actually quite comfortable. And most importantly, it had been hand-picked by his master. That was all he needed to know to be happy with the garment.

The most dominant feature of his reflection, however, was resplendent collar wrapped around his neck, resting comfortably on his clavicles. Though the object did not feel any tighter than any other accessories Rose could ever recall wearing around his neck, it certainly fit snugly enough that it could not be lifted over his head like a normal necklace. The steel lock hung below the center jewel in front, shining as brightly as the gems themselves. A small keyhole was just visible around the front, surrounded by the faintest etching that depicted the outline of a SOUL.

In addition, the center jewel of the collar was no longer an ordinary ruby. Its shape had been transformed into the image of a rose in full bloom. He made a small sound of wonder.

“What do you think?” the Count asked, his voice bubbling with the giddiness of a child’s.

“it’s...beautiful,” Rose whispered, at last in control of his voice again. Two more words came out before he had a chance to think. “thank you.”

The Count started, then abruptly straightened his posture and cleared his figurative throat. “Ahem. Yes, well, it was part our covenant. You had as much to do with it as I. You are quite welcome, all the same.”

Rose almost laughed at the lanky skeleton’s sudden awkwardness, but decided against it. He didn’t want to spoil the moment. “so um...what now?”

Papyrus regained his composure, smiling sweetly and offering a hand, pocketing something tiny and silver with the other. “First, I shall serve you luncheon. I’m sure that ceremony took a lot out of you, dear Rose. Then, if you wish, we can begin arranging your new suite and bedchamber so that they are to your liking. Your rooms shall be right next to mine in the north wing, of course.”

Rose nodded slowly, head already spinning with all of the details and intricacies of this new, opulent lifestyle he was about to begin. He extended his left hand to take the Count’s offered one, but when he tried to move his right arm, he hissed in pain and clutched the wound.

“Oh, my Rose!” the Count cried, leaning in close and gingerly taking up the cracked bone with both hands, causing the smaller one to hiss with pain. “My deepest apologies. I shall heal this at once.” A red glow of magic blossomed across the Count’s clawed phalanges, then snaked its way down to pour into the crack, sealing it instantly.

Rose sighed in relief as the pain dulled and vanished in a matter of seconds. “t-thanks...ngggh!” Without warning the Count leaned forward and ran his tongue up and down the newly healed bone, lapping up the excess marrow. Rose didn’t fight or pull away, but he did go completely still, unable to suppress visions of himself being pinned down and having his marrow forcefully drawn from his arm.

“Aaaaaah…” the Count sighed, closing his eyes in bliss as he savored the taste. When he saw his vassal’s distress, he cupped Rose’s face in his hand, murmuring bracing things until the wide sockets flickered with consciousness again. “I apologize, dear flower. I’m afraid I simply cannot afford to let a single drop of magic go to waste, if I am to quench my eternal thirst with only you from now on.”

Rose felt just the slightest touch of anger. After all the Count had said before about making sure he was comfortable, he was already licking his bones whenever he pleased?

The Count must have read his face, because the nobleman’s expression turned placating. “I will do my best to warn you before I feed. Though it may take some...practice. I am not used to such formality with my, er, dining. Do you accept my apology, my Rose?”

After a long, scrutinizing look, Rose relented. “yeah, okay. just...give me some heads up next time.”

Count Papyrus gave his warmest smile, once again offering his hand. “Of course, dearest flower. Shall we go then, my love?”

The small skeleton uncrossed his arms, then took the hand, using its strength and firmness to hold his still-quivering legs steady. “yes, co—” he stopped. He was about to say “Count,” but that didn’t feel quite right. Another word was bubbling up in his mouth, begging just to see how it tasted on his tongue. He winced, then let it loose on the faintest of whispers. “m...master.”

The Count’s smile spread wide and toothy, his eyes flashing as they drew near to the library door. This was the happiest he had felt in centuries. There was a heady feeling invading his battered old SOUL, thawing out emotions he had completely forgotten he could feel. It was like...kinship. And ownership. But closer and warmer than both. Was it love? It could have been, it felt very close to how he imagined love would feel.

He didn’t have to sort out his emotions this very second, though. He had plenty of time. _They_ had plenty of time. They had until the end of the ages to figure out their bond. And his thirst for knowledge was positively parched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yes, I’ve been excited about this one for a while~ So originally this was going to be a glory hole fic to follow up the pet play party with Swapfell and Underfell. Then I got this idea for a continuation of the vampire fic! This idea has exploded in so many directions I hardly know where to start. So we’ll start right here with the origin story!
> 
> My inspiration for the relationship between Sans/Rose and the Count was the relationship between Christine and the Phantom in Phantom of the Opera (the musical, of course). Basically, this is like if Christine chose to stay with the Phantom rather than leave him for Raul. While the relationship between Christine and the Phantom is very alluring and passionate, it is extremely unstable and ultimately wouldn’t pan out in the long run.
> 
> Sans is overcome with guilt and just wants to do one thing right and make SOMEONE happy in his life. Papyrus sees this pathological need to be needed in him, and rather than helping Sans return to a healthier mindset, he decides the best course of action is to split that wound wide open and take full advantage of it. But it isn’t because he’s evil or anything, it’s just because he’s always taken weaker creatures by force, and lacks any empathy for others. He legitimately thinks he’s doing Sans a favor by taking control of him and giving him an eternal role as his food and plaything, because all he sees is that Sans wants to be useful. And he also think Sans is pretty dang hot in his own right, and his magic is probably extra tasty and filling since they’re both skeletons.
> 
> I say all of this because THIS IS NOT A HEALTHY RELATIONSHIP. It’s extremely abusive and exploitative. Both Sans and Papyrus are constantly contradicting themselves all over the place, and neither is mentally healthy enough to even see it, much less put a stop to it. Their relationship will grow and change as this story goes on, but for now I am NOT trying to sell their relationship as a healthy one. It may be sexy with the whole master/slave thing or even sweet at times, but this is an ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP. I literally mapped the exchanges in this scene based on unhealthy thought patterns and mental traps serial abusers use on their victims.
> 
> I just wanted to make this perfectly clear upfront, as it seems this story will only be going dark places from here. I may get off on fucked up shit like this, as I imagine those of you who are reading this do too. But I am very firm in drawing a heavy line between fantasy and reality, and I’ll be damned before I get caught advocating or romanticizing abusive relationships. If you find yourself in a relationship or mind traps that look like this, seek someone outside the relationship for help and advice.
> 
> https://www.safehorizon.org/programs/5-signs-emotional-abuse/
> 
> https://www.wadvocates.org/resources/warning-signs-of-an-abusive-person/
> 
> Also, something isn’t quite right about Sans/Rose after the pact is signed there. Something has changed. But what is it? Find out next time~ I’m not sure when the next installment will be out, but this story will definitely continue, and I will eventually finish out the rest of kinktober too.
> 
> And in case some of you don't know, I have a NSFW tumblr and a SFW one tied to my youtube channel! If you want to follow me or chat about something just hit me up <3
> 
> caitielewd.tumblr.com (nsfw)
> 
> caitielou-askew.tumblr.com (sfw)


	3. Hearts and Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose spends a bit of time exploring his new home's many amenities, and the time comes for the Count's first feeding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we’re back! Told you we would be...eventually, lol. I’ve also been slowly hammering away at this and the next kinktober story (exhibitionism+fisting), and this one managed to get finished first. Mostly because it’s half the length I originally intended. But in the interest of giving you one (possibly two) more stories before Christmas, here is this one!
> 
> Also thank you so much to Ravvi for betaing this chapter! She really pushed me to add some juicy details in here to really bring it all together. But I shall not rely on her any more going forward! Her time is precious and she normally charges for that, so I shall not take advantage of her any further <3 I will simply take her many lessons to heart and make the chapters just as grand.

The suite was even more luxurious than Rose had been expecting. And that was saying something, given how the Count had talked it up during the walk from the library.

 _all this, for me?_ Rose thought incredulously. The suite had three rooms—a spacious seating area in the front, a bedchamber separated by a curtain, and a luxurious bath branching off of the bedroom.  The bathroom had cold _and_ hot running water. Plus an enormous walk-in closet that was practically a fourth room, already stocked with more dresses, shoes, and fancy clothing than Rose could wear in a month.

“...And of course we shall go shopping at the first opportunity, when you are feeling more settled...dear, is everything alright?”

Rose tore his gaze from the bevy of colors and fabrics, then shook his head a little. “i’m sorry, what did you say, master?”

Papyrus laughed warmly, wrapping an arm around Rose’s shoulders to pull him into a one-sided embrace. “Nyeh heh heh...you really are tired aren’t you, Little Flower? Here, let me show you to your bedchamber.” He lead the bewildered skeleton back into the bedroom, guiding him to the room’s centerpiece, a king-sized, four-poster bed complete with a burgundy privacy curtain.  The bed was already turned down and made up with the softest-looking linens that Rose had ever seen.

“I should not need to feed until tomorrow, so please, rest now.”

Rose obediently took a step toward the bed, then balked, eye sockets fixed on the silky covers.. A bed with curtains, the Count leaning over him hungrily, the thought of feeding...

The Count seemed to take his hesitancy for exhaustion. Without another word, he lifted Rose up into his arms, then set him on the mattress and began to tuck him in.

His face flashed with concern a moment later. “My love, do you feel ill? You’re sweating all over…” A gloved hand extended toward Rose’s face.

“n-no master, i feel f-fine!” Rose spluttered, holding out his hands to stop the Count’s. The looming skeleton still looked concerned, but he held back. Rose swallowed, then took several deep breaths. “i think...you’re right, i just need rest. i think i’m still recovering from the…” Rose tentatively pressed a hand to the collar around his neck. Ceremony? Vow? Pact? Nothing sounded quite right, but luckily, the Count didn’t seem to mind.

His eye lights settled into a sympathetic understanding, and he nodded with a warm smile. “I thought as much. Sleep as long as you like, dear. I will bring water and refreshments to have at your bedside. And if you need more, please do not hesitate to find me or visit the kitchens, as I showed you.”

The Count straightened and pulled a cord near the head of the bed. The blood-red curtains around the bed fell closed, plunging Rose into a near darkness that was softened by the crystal lamps glowing through the cloth on either side of the bed. “Sleep well, my love.”

With the sound of faint footsteps on fine rugs he was gone, and Rose breathed calmly again.

Every moment of the mansion tour that morning had been delightful, right up until his master had taken him over to the bed. Memories from the previous night night—could it have really been just _last_ night?—had overtaken him, like a nightmare playing over and over...

He shook his head, suppressing a shudder. No, that part of his life was over. Now, he was Rose. His master had promised not to touch him without permission. He had abided by that so far, and Rose would continue to abide his promises. And in return, he had gained all _this._ A lovely home, all the amenities he could possibly need, and a master who loved and needed him as much as life itself.

Rose closed his eye sockets, settling into the ocean of supple cushions surrounding him. He was truly exhausted. Even though his master had said he wouldn’t need to feed today, Rose wanted to be ready in case that changed. Providing magic was one of his most important obligations now, and he could not be remiss in that duty. He would sleep as much as he could, so that he was ready to serve the moment he was needed.

.

The mantle clock struck seven and Rose finally stirred. Even then he woke sluggishly, loathe to give up the down mattress and warm, silky sheets. In his previous life, he’d never slept on anything softer than a straw-filled cot under a scratchy wool blanket. Frequently with bone-lice and the occasional wandering mouse sneaking in to share the warmth and nibble on his bedding. This was luxury he could easily get used to.

He blearily sat up and pushed open the bed curtains, keeping his complaints to a few muttered promises to return to his covers soon. He’d always hated getting up, and likely always would, but he had obligations which couldn’t be delayed any longer.

The crystal lamp glowed dimly on the nightstand. Frowning, Rose reached out to touch it, wondering if it could be turned up like the wick on an oil lamp.

“oh!  uh...ok,” he muttered in surprise when his touch alone made the lamp glow marginally brighter. After two more taps the light became adequate, fully illuminating a refreshment tray near the bed complete with pastries, a jug of water, and a fine, empty glass.

Wrapping the comforter around him like a shawl, he hoisted his legs to dangle over the bed and reached out for a pastry. Much to his surprise, it was warm to the touch. Odd, since he was sure it must have been hours since his master had set out the tray. Appreciatively, he took a generous bite. The crust was sweet and flaky, brushed with honey and baked to perfection. Inside was a burst of fruit filling, making a tart counterpoint to the lighter flavors of the crust. A look at the cross-section revealed bright red berry compote threatening to trickle onto his hand.

Rose chuckled, gingerly tossing the rest into his mouth before his fingers could get too sticky. Of _course_ the filling would be red.

After he’d had his fill of pastries and water, Rose finally stepped out of bed, his feet brushing a pair of plush, vermilion slippers placed exactly where he’d swung his legs down. He smiled. His master thought of everything.

Unsure how he should dress at such a time of night...or even at all, if he was being honest with himself. He settled on a light blue satin dress with a white ribbon sash and short, puffed sleeves. Plain cotton or linen would have been preferable, but after a brief survey, there was nothing like that to be found. He may have to have a word about that. Finery was nice and all, and he wanted to look his best for his master, but he was still a skeleton of simple tastes. A few informal dresses would make him feel more at home, and less like a 5g peasant crammed into a 5,000g dress.

A little voice inside him irritably told Rose he’d _never_ worn anything so delicate or difficult to clean, but he dismissed thought immediately. This _was_ his home now, too, and he would work with his master to find a balance between their tastes.

After slipping on some matching blue shoes, Rose stepped out of the closet, then grabbed the empty dishes and he set out toward the kitchens.

The sconces in the hallway were uniformly lit in every direction, giving him no clear direction of where to go to find the kitchens. After a moment’s consideration, Rose turned left, going the direction he remembered coming from the day before. The lights grew brighter as he walked under them, providing adequate light to see the elegant rugs, crown molding, and framed artwork which decorated the corridors. Rose took his time, pausing frequently to look closer at  bits of decoration that caught his interest. This was his first chance to really get a good look at it all. His previous tour with the Count had been very thorough, though quite swift. Rose had found himself a bit overwhelmed by the sheer number of things to see, and the Count’s enthusiastic descriptions of each hall and room, their many uses, and the vast amounts of gold used to build and furnish each.

His meandering eventually led him down two flights of stairs and to the kitchen, which was on the ground floor of the manor. Rose smelled it before he saw the illuminated doorway which opened up to the formal dining area. The warmth of ovens and the delectable smell of fresh-baked bread, pastries, along with some more savory notes wafted out, pulling him away from the fancy artwork more effectively than Undyne chasing him with a spear. He was _starving..._

Rose would have called this a dining hall, given the room’s vastness, but the Count had insisted it was merely a formal dining room since it had only one very long table in the middle. And the very man himself was seated at the head of that table on the far side, directly facing the door which Rose stumbled through. He looked deep in thought, peering over his newspaper with generous portions of food spread out in plates and bowls before him.

The Count looked up, interrupting Rose's thoughts with a welcoming smile. “Ah, the sleeping beauty wakes at last! I was beginning to worry I would not see you this morning before I went on my errands.”

Rose nearly dropped his tray. “this...morning? but, the clock just chimed seven, i thought it was just after dinner?”

The Count chuckled warmly, folding the newspaper as he stood. “Nyeh heh heh heh...I’m afraid not, my dear Rose. You slept all the way through the evening and night.” He walked around the table and approached Rose. “I admit I grew a bit concerned, however I thought it best to let you sleep and recover your strength.”

A blush crossed Rose’s face as the Count drew near, reaching out to take the dishes from his hands. “u-uh...thanks, master.”

An arm snaked around Rose’s waist as he was pulled toward the head of the table. “You’re quite welcome. I see you enjoyed the refreshments, did you need anything more? My cook is at your command.”

Rose eyed the intimidating feast with trepidation. A large spread of artfully sliced fruits, piles of baked goods smothered with butter and honey. Even savory breakfast staples Rose had only ever tasted in his dreams—scotch eggs, fried bacon, spiced sausages, and glazed ham with strange round fruit slices piled on top.

“...i think i’m alright for now, thanks. the pastries were very good, though! and...warm? heheh…”

The Count beamed. “Ah, good! I wanted to be sure they were fresh when you awakened.” He set the dishes on the table and rang a bell sitting by his chair. “Mortal food doesn’t appeal to my palate the way...other things do. However I do understand that freshness and temperature play a large part in how enjoyable most foods are.” He picked up a long crimson cloak which had been draped over the back of his chair, whipping it dramatically over his shoulders, then donning a large red tricorn hat with accompanying white plumage. “Not unlike my own meals, actually.” He grinned playfully, causing Rose to blush further.

“And now, I’m afraid I must be off. There is some business I must take care of which cannot be delayed any further.” He cupped Rose’s cheeks with his hands, tilted his head up slightly, and planted a small kiss on his forehead. “I will return in time for dinner, my love. Feel free to explore any part of the mansion you wish, but please do not enter my personal study or my bedroom. And do not go any further outside than the exterior gates.” His head tilted slightly, his eyes flashing with something Rose couldn't quite read. “I do not want you getting lost, or eaten up by a feral monster.”

Rose swallowed and nodded. “yes, master. i understand.”

“Good,” he purred. He let go of Rose’s face, though one claw seemed to linger at the collar for just a moment before he adjusted his coat and rang a silver bell on the table. “The staff shall see to the dishes, as well as anything you wish to ask of them. Please, do enjoy yourself, dear Rose. My home is yours, now.”

He took off his hat and made a flamboyant bow, to which Rose responded with a small chuckle and a curtsy. “thank you.”

The Count paused, and almost seemed to flush before he jammed his hat back on and walked out the doors of the dining room.

Rose didn’t move until he heard the slightest clatter of dishes behind him. “o-oh, hello ferrous.” The head chef of the household, Ferrous, was a tall, thin monster with a malleable form. The Count had introduced them during the tour yesterday, but their body was still fascinating to Rose. They were made of a black, metallic liquid which kept in a bipedal form and clothed in the typical garb of a chef—white shirt and pants, apron, and hat marking him as the head of the kitchen. They could reshape their body to have as many arms, fingers, heads, hands, or legs they wanted—within the limits of how much fluid they had to spare. It was a very useful form for a cook, especially one in the employ of such a...spontaneous master.

The monster gave a smooth nod. “Good morning, my lord.” Ferrous’ voice was ageless and wispy, and seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. They had no mouth. In fact their face was completely smooth and featureless as they continued to stack dishes, consolidating the foodstuffs into some of the larger bowls, sending out a few tendrils to keep the stack balanced.

“thanks for, uh, cleaning that up,” Rose said with an awkward grin. He genuinely felt bad about eating so little of the feast. He suspected the Count had kept the poor monster up all night baking warm pastries for his bedside table. But how to express that without sounding like a heel…? “sorry, i just wasn’t hungry. the, uh, other pastries were delicious though, thank you!”

Ferrous remained impassive. “No need to thank me, my lord. This is part of my job. If you change your mind, please let me know. I will always be in the kitchens or somewhere nearby, day or night.” The answer was curt and polite, but while their voice nor body language suggested anger, there was also no warmth or understanding.

Maybe a bit of comedy would smooth things over? “th...thanks...if that happens i’ll be sure to _ferrous_ you out, heheh.”

The metallic monster gave the briefest pause while picking up a goblet, then continued on with a single nod. Rose resisted the urge to bow or curtsy and made a beeline out of there, silently cursing himself. Ferrous was certainly polite and respectful...but Rose didn’t want to relate to his master’s staff with such formality. _His_ staff now, too, he supposed.

Well, perhaps he was overthinking everything. It was still very early on in this whole...thing. He had plenty of time to get to know the staff. Literally until the end of time, as a matter of fact.

Halfway down the corridor after leaving the dining room, Rose paused in front of a large painting. “so...what now?” he muttered to himself. Suddenly he had an entire day ahead of him, and absolutely no idea what he was supposed to do with it.

He turned his head and met the gaze of an austere, bird noblewoman, frozen in time on the wall. Her beady eyes were locked straight ahead, her beak was set in a terse frown, and her voluminous plumage filled nearly the entire canvas. Rose couldn’t tell who she was or what she’d done to deserve such a lavish depiction of her figure, and she looked like the last person he’d pick to try and make friends with.

The way she looked down her beak at him, she looked like those nobles who always treated on the impoverished citizens of Snowdin like garbage—even the town’s royal guards who protected their gilded carriages from thieves and bandits. Sneering, jeering, whispering too-loud insults behind fans and turned heads. Lords taxing their serfs to starvation, then getting angry when their dust piles up in the street and dirties their freshly polished shoes. No matter how rich he was now, Rose never wanted to be lumped in with _that_ lot.

Still...he couldn’t help admire the fact that at least _she_ seemed to know who she was, and what her place was in this life.

Well, maybe the library would have some answers. The Count had seemed very excited to show off that in particular during yesterday’s tour. Rose stepped out of stern bird woman’s glare and took the most familiar route to the library.

On the way, he nearly started when he encountered a couple of maids, who seemed to be doing their cleaning rounds. The first one kept her head down and completely avoided his eyes, while the second one only stopped to give him the barest curtsy when he greeted her. They were...mouse monsters, maybe? They were both small, even compared to him, but they moved so timidly Rose could hardly get a good look at them.

He understood the mansion was equipped with a full staff in _theory_ . But for some reason, actually _seeing_ monsters other than the Count and himself wandering the halls made the house feel...bigger. Where did they live? Did they go home every night and come back in the morning? Or did they have quarters here where they slept? So many questions he would have to ask his master later. And all the more reason to get to know them better, if he was going to share his house with them for the rest of his life.

Rose arrived at the library, which lit up the moment he entered the room, just as every other area of the mansion did. The first place his eyes were drawn to was the writing desk, which was conspicuously empty. He wondered where the contract was now. The Count had simply left it on the desk before, but clearly he had come back and moved it somewhere.

He checked the drawers of the desk out of curiosity, only to find some scrap stationery and writing supplies. Oh well. His master was taking good care of it, no doubt. Perhaps it was stored in a safe or chest somewhere, or deep in a drawer or file where no one would think to look for it. Their contract wouldn’t be affected at all if something did happen to the original copy of the pact, however he guessed that it was still something the Count would want to keep safe.

That left Rose on his own in library with an entire day to kill. Did he really have this much free time to just...read?  Daunted, he looked around at the terrifying number of large, expensive-looking books, at a complete loss for where to start. He usually did better with...direction. Rose couldn’t remember having disposable time since he was a baby bones, playing with the other ragtag children of Snowdin. Ever since he’d entered sentry training and gained his post in the forest, work easily took up most of his day. What little time he did have, he usually spent on necessary tasks, such as cooking, laundry, housekeeping, training, and equipment upkeep.

Part of that had been by design—the life of a sentry was a poor one, after all. If he wasn’t working, he wasn’t earning money, and he never seemed to have enough.  Even living alone in the shed of a kind old widower on the edge of town, he still had very little wealth to his name, certainly none to throw away on...spending entire days reading.

But now, for the first time in his life, Rose had all the time and money in the world. Time, money, not the faintest clue of what to do with it. He’d been so focused on just _surviving_ in his old life that he never stopped to think about what he might do if he actually was rich.

Maybe...try some fancy foods? Well he’d already done that. Get some fancy clothes? Also done, he thought dryly,adjusting the white sash around his middle. Sleep as long as he wanted? Done as well, he’d literally just slept almost 16 hours.

Rose heaved a long sigh, then stood, walked to the nearest set of shelves,t and grabbed the first book his outstretched arm encountered. He had to start somewhere, or else he’d just spend his entire day reminiscing about what it was like to be poor.  

“Manorialism: Differing Perspectives on the Efficacy and Morality of Feudalism,” Rose read aloud, then squinted at the thick volume. “what the heck…?”

After reading the title five more times, Rose finally gave up on trying to understand it and returned the book to where it came from. Impulsively, he then took a couple of steps over and grabbed another. _On the Revolutions of the Heavenly Spheres._ Huh, this one looked interesting. He wasn’t sure what that meant, either, but at least it sounded better than efficacy and morality.. Moving it to his other hand, he went up a shelf and grabbed another volume. _Modern Almanac of Subterranean Flora._

Flora...that meant something like plants, right? He added it on top of the other book.

One more step over brought him to a useful-looking volume who Rose had not a hope of pronouncing the author’s name correctly. _The Book of the Courtier._ Rose placed the book gingerly on top of the others in his hand and opened it, leafing through the pages. It appeared to be a book on etiquette. After a few moments of thought, he shrugged, slipped it to the bottom of the pile then staggered over to one of the window-alcoves to read in. Like the rest of the mansion, the little nook had its own light, a window which looked out upon the barely visible garden, and even its own curtain he could close for total seclusion.

Rose hoisted himself up onto the seat, not bothering to straighten his skirts as he curled his feet up under him and leaned back against the numerous cushions and pillows.

“aaaah…” he sighed. Yes, this spot would do nicely. He set the etiquette and plant books aside, opening _Heavenly Spheres_ to the title page. “alright, nick-o-louse, let’s see what you’ve got.” Glancing off to the side for a moment, he leaned forward and tugged on a long rope dangling nearby. Instantly the red curtain fell with a dramatic swoosh of fabric, sealing Rose off into a cozy, private world of his own.

.

The book, it turned out, was all about stars, planets, and the sun. Rose had never thought much about the stars before. Or the surface in general, for that matter. He had always been too occupied with his lowly existence underground to worry about it. Chances were he’d never see it anyway, so why bother? It was just far-off disappointment to pile on top of his present ones.

Sure, he had gone through a “stargazing” phase when he was younger. Every monster child did. But one by one, as each of them got older, those fantasies were pushed aside by the woes and worries of adulthood. The crystals glittering on the ceiling of Waterfall became less of a tapestry of dreams, and more of a cave full of riches held just out of their reach.

He wasn’t sure how humans felt about Nicolaus and his theory of a heliocentric universe in which the planets danced in a sea of stars, but he was completely entranced. To think that the world wasn’t just a lot bigger on the surface, wasn’t _just_ a sphere so vast it seemed flat when you stood upon it, but was also only _one_ of many such planets in its immediate vicinity. And it wasn’t even the largest! Jupiter was thought to be thousands and thousands of times larger than the earth.

And the sun, the _sun!_ Rose had no idea the sun was actually a star, too! And all of the planets circled around the sun, thriving in its life-giving energy.

And if the sun was a star with planets around it, did that mean every other star had planets around them, too? Did the thousands of millions of stars which the book said filled the heavens also harbor thousands of _billions_ of planets?!

Rose’s eye lights shone and his SOUL thrummed as he hungrily turned from one page to the next. The Underground had always been large enough for him, he hadn’t even _considered_ how vast and wondrous the world outside could possibly be. He’d always known it was important for monsters to break the barrier and take back the surface from humankind, though he’d never understood _why_. Old man Gerson always told him of epic fights and sweeping battlefields, but he’d never told Rose of the awe-inspiring scale and majesty of the skies and heavens.

A small seed of hope and longing was slowly planted in Rose’s SOUL. While his first priority would always be his master, he couldn’t deny that the promise of boundless lands to experience on the surface was calling him in a way it never had before.

The curtain rustled and a beam of light fell over the pages. “Already making good use of my library, I see.”

Rose jolted. “wha—oh!” The curtain of the window seat had been pulled back, held open by a chuckling Count.

“Ah, my apologies, dear Rose. I did not mean to startle you.”

“n-no, master, i apologize. i didn’t know you were home, i-i wasn’t trying to hide or—”

The Count placed a finger on Rose’s mouth. He spoke softly. “Ssssh. That didn’t even cross my mind. Do you like small spaces, little one?”

A pink flush crossed Rose’s face. “u-uh...yeah, actually. i think.”

Papyrus nodded. “Mm. I will take that into consideration for the future. Tell me, have you taken a turn about the garden yet? Would you like to do so before dinner?”

Rose’s head tilted in confusion. “dinner? isn’t it around lunch time?”

The Count laughed again. “Nyeh heh, you lose track of time very easily, don’t you, my flower? That book must have been very interesting to you. I’m afraid it is nearly 4 o’clock.”

Rose blinked. “oh, uh, sure.” Wow, he _had_ gotten lost in the book. He’d have to work on that, he couldn’t keep losing time like this.

After a moment’s consideration, he closed an edge of the curtain in the book to save his page, then took the Count’s proffered hand. “Ah, I will need to get you a bookmark.” Eyeing the two other books off to the side, he added, “Perhaps several.”

The Count must have changed out of his day attire, sporting a simple white shirt with lace detail around the cuffs, black trousers, and knee-high boots. He guided Rose by the hand to the massive glass-paneled double-doors, and opened them.

A long, wide stairway made of smooth, white marble descended down into a round, glittering flower bed, spilling over with red, gold, blue, and purple blooms. A path opened up behind the bed, lined with tall hedges that stood taller than the Count’s head.

“is that...a maze?”

“Yes. A wonderful puzzle designed by yours truly and brought to life by my diligent horticulturalists.”

“wow…” Rose placed a hand over his chest. He couldn’t see out across the entire maze from their vantage point, but he could see it was very large and extremely elaborate, the walls forming intricate spirals and knots sure to baffle even the most experienced puzzle-meisters.

“We don’t have to go through it just now,” the Count assured, guiding the gaping skeleton slowly down the stairs. “We can take the shorter path around the outside.”

“yeah...that sounds good.”

Rose wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the extravagant garden. He and the Count took a right turn just before entering the maze, going along a path which lined the outer edge of the maze, which was apparently circular in shape. To their left was the tall hedges of the maze, but to their right were fields of snow-tipped trees trees and luminescent flowers and grasses. The fields glowed with cooler colors, blue, cyan, white, indigo. The colors were breathtaking paired with the snow, and provided stark contrast with the warm colors of the nearby flowerbeds, but...

“You are quiet,” the Count said some time into their stroll. “Is something on your mind, my love?”

Rose’s gaze flicked from the flower fields to the Count, then back. “oh, just...i dunno, i’m not used to...all this.”

“‘All this?’ To what are you referring?”

The smaller skeleton opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. After a frustrated pause, he used his free hand to gesture all around then. “just... _this_. everything. the space, the food, the servants, the books, the…” A flush creeped onto his face and he looked away. “you.”

“Me?”

“yeah. nobody’s ever…” His clasped hand loosened, until only the Count’s grip held them together. “nobody’s ever done this much for me before. given me this much. and...i-i mean, i appreciate it and all, don’t get me wrong. i guess i’m not...it just doesn’t feel right, you know?”

The Count stopped walking. Rose’s hand fell out of his. “since i don’t really have...anything i can give you in return.”

Papyrus looked at his vassal with open concern. “Don’t have...Rose, is that really how you feel about yourself?”

Rose didn’t meet his eyes.

“Oh...my love…”

Strong arms took Rose into a tight embrace. He was pressed against the Count’s broad chest, so close he could swear he felt his SOUL through the thin fabric of his shirt. “m-master?!” he spluttered.

“Please do not say such things about yourself.” The words were barely more than a whisper, but there was an edge of desperation to them that focused Rose’s thoughts onto them. “You have given me more than I could ever repay, simply by being here at my side. You have given me purpose and peace, unlike anything I have felt in centuries. Truly, I am in your debt.”

The large hands released his torso, then cupped his face, tilting it upward. He got one brief glimpse of the Count’s yearning look before the kiss landed. It started as a simple magic spark and clack of the teeth, then his master’s tongue dove into his partly agape jaw, allowing him to lay claim on his entire mouth.

Rose was too shocked to return the kiss, clumsily adjusting to Count’s tight grip, and the large, dominating organ muffling his weak protests. But within moments he gave in, closing his eyes, standing up onto his toes, and curling his fingers around master’s shirt.

Something like a chuckle rumbled in the Count’s throat, sending a shiver down Rose’s spine as he melted into the predatory embrace. The tongue wrestling with his own and tickling the back of his throat became wetter, forcing Rose to slurp and swallow rather unromantically so as not to choke or drool all over himself. Was the Count...salivating?

Suddenly Papyrus pulled away from the kiss, holding a dazed Rose at an arm’s length. “Mmm...ah...yes. Yes, you are…” He cleared his throat abruptly, and shook his head. “Ahem. Well, now...I hope one day you will see how much you are worth to me, my love.” His voice cracked slightly as he spoke, pulling Rose out of his daze with a nervous chuckle.

“eheh...yeah...me too…”

Hearing Rose laugh brought a true smile to Papyrus’ face. The red lights in his eye sockets sparkled, and his fangs glittered in the soft blue light of the field. “Shall we turn back and take dinner then, dear? I would bet you never left that little nook of yours even for lunch.”

Taking the Count’s hand again as they turned back, Rose put a hand lightly to his face, feeling the heat of the brilliant flush on his cheeks. “n-no…”

“As I thought.” Papyrus offered his arm, which Rose took with almost no hesitation. “Come, my love. I told Ferrous to prepare a hearty meal to satisfy your _ferocious_ hunger.”

.

Dinner was, indeed, very filling. A perfectly cooked roast braised with spices, honey, and fruits, so tender Rose didn’t immediately recognize it as meat. Only non-magical fish and surface animals could actually be cooked and consumed—anything made of magic simply dissolved to dust when killed. Real meat was obviously a rarity in the Underground, which made it almost as prized as fruit. The only reason fruits were more valuable was because meat was seen by many as more of a human food—barbaric and violent. Plus there was the fact that surface animals often strongly resembled many varieties of monsters. Though meats were sometimes considered a somewhat sacrilegious delicacy by those monsters who didn’t find them disgusting or transgressive.

The only meat Rose had ever eaten was scraps of dried-out jerky—an easy-to-carry meal which could be bought very cheap from the right monster. That tough, rubbery strip was completely unlike this warm, savory morsel melting in his mouth and satisfying his SOUL. Luckily, the master of the house did most of the talking as Rose enjoyed his roasted meat, potatoes and gravy, telling the stories of his most hard-won properties and the “misfortunes” which befell those who attempted to deceive him. Rose listened with rapt attention, almost forgetting to chew and swallow at times. His master was utterly captivating. Strong-willed and charismatic, but fair and honorable.

After a light and airy fruit parfait dessert, which perfectly offset the heaviness of the meal, Rose unconsciously let out a dramatic yawn.

“Are you tired, my love?”

“aaaahhnnn…” Rose wiped his eye socket, remembering to cover his mouth far too late. “ah, sorry. yeah, i guess i am. would it be alright if i went to bed?”

“Of course, dear, of course!” The Count stood immediately, circling around the table to ring the bell and offer Rose a hand. He stood slowly, fighting the lethargy weighing his limbs after the filling meal.

“thanks, master. but i think i can make it if you’ve got something better to do.”

“Nonsense! What better way to spend my time than helping my lovely flower to bed?”

Once again the Count was guiding Rose down the halls. There was a quickness to his step that caught the smaller skeleton off guard, forcing him to take long steps so as not to be swept completely off his feet. Not that he would have _minded_ being swept off his feet, but he didn’t want to put his master out any more than this impromptu personal escort.

When they arrived at his door, Rose let go of the Count’s arm and looked up at him, startled by intense look in his eyes. “u-um...thanks again, master. for everything.” He reached behind, blindly searching for the doorknob, unable to drop the gaze. “now i’ll just…”

The Count reached forward to grab the doorknob first, causing Rose to jolt as his own hand landed just a moment too late. Suddenly he was in shadow, the Count towered over him, forcing his back against the door, their faces no more than a foot apart.

“Please forgive me for being so forward, love, but before you retire, I’m afraid I must also feed this evening.” His voice was husky and his eyes burned, causing Rose’s SOUL to thrum with alarm.

He swallowed nervously. “o-oh...um...y-yes, master. of course.”

“Excellent,” the Count purred, then opened the door.

Rose’s thoughts swirled as they stepped into his suite. The Count put a hand on his shoulder. “I think this will be easiest if we do it on the bed, that way if you...you will be as comfortable as possible.”

Rose nodded, hardly listening, allowing himself to be lead to his bedchamber. Of course, he _knew_ his only purpose now was to serve and feed his master. His body, his SOUL, was his master’s to do with as he pleased. But that still didn’t make the thought of being...eaten any less frightening.

He trusted and loved his master completely since signing the contract, as any servant should. He had only hoped that would also translate to no longer feeling like cornered prey when the time came for his master to feed.

Never letting go of his hand, Papyrus helped Rose take a seat on the edge of the mattress, then sat down beside him. Rose folded his hands in his lap nervously, as the Count put an arm around his shoulder, pulling him close.

“Before we begin, I would like to make you a bit more...relaxed. Would you like that, Rose?”

 _i don’t know._ “y...yes, master.” He attempted a weak smile. “i guess i am feeling a bit _rattled,_ heh...”

“Yes, that’s it.” Rose could hear the grin in his voice. “Now, close your eyes…”

Rose took a deep breath in, then out, slowly shutting his eye sockets.

Immediately he became aware of his master’s closeness. Their hips touching on the bed, the arm around his shoulder, holding him tight against the tall, broad ribcage. The other hand rested on his other shoulder, and the two began to massage gently, gently grazing the sensitive areas between his clavicles and scapulae. Rose began to relax, taken in by the new, and extremely pleasant sensation.

“Feel good?” A soft voice to his right inquired.

“mmhmm,” Rose hummed, his fingers in his lap uncurling.

“And this?”

The circular motion of the Count’s fingers dipped lower, the thumbs wedging just underneath his deltoids, pushing the fabric of the dress into the pool of magic under the joint which acted as invisible cartilage, holding the skeleton’s body together.

“o-oh, ooooh...yes…” Rose breathed. Normally a touch that close to his body’s magical network was painful and invasive, like a pressure point being squeezed. Applying pressure to such places was often used to subdue skeletons. But intent made all the difference, and the Count’s intent was aimed solely toward soothing and relaxing.

“Good, very good…” his master whispered, leaning so close the words rumbled through his skull. Rose’s SOUL thrummed at the praise. Good, he was doing _good_ for his master. He was happy with him. Rose’s body relaxed further, until he was only held upright by Papyrus’ strong, gentle hands.

“That’s it, open yourself to me, my flower…”

The hands shifted slightly, one moving to the center of Rose’s spine where his scapulae met, the other moving upward to cradle his head, a thumb rubbing lightly between the sensitive cervical vertebrae. Rose’s breath hitched. Had the touch been a little tighter, the fingers wrapped around his neck would have felt restraining and suffocating. But the Count’s grip was gentle, secure and intimate, just like the soft, snug fit of the collar itself.

Rose felt his master nuzzle his neck, filling his senses with a strange and hypnotic musk. “You’re being so good, pet. I’m proud of you,” he rumbled.

“mmm...thank you...master…” Rose leaned back and shifted his seat, trying to scoot himself yet closer. The Count paused the massage to gently lift the smaller skeleton into his lap. He smirked as he felt inviting tendrils of magic blooming from Rose’s bones and joints, curling around his fingers as he returned to his tender ministrations. So trusting, so obedient...already blossoming with eagerness…

But no, he had to hold back. He had promised. He wouldn’t ruin this. Still…

“My Rose…”

His patience was waning.

Papyrus swallowed heavily, jaws parted just above his prey’s neck, almost drooling, unable to stop his tongue from gravitating toward those sweet, tender bones…

“yes, master?” Rose’s voice lilted up demurely.

The Count’s eyes flashed red. “Hold still, my love…this will sting only a little...”

_Crack_

“nnngh!” Rose’s back arched and his eye sockets flew open. Piercing fangs bored open his neck, a tongue was lapping up his magic, sucking his life away—!

 _“Sssh, pet, be still,”_ a commanding voice echoed through his SOUL, rattling his very bones. Instantly he froze. _“This will hurt worse if you struggle.”_

He couldn’t stop this, it wasn’t his place. Rose had to obey, he had to endure. He was merely a tool for his master. Tools had no will, no feelings, no lives of their own. His only reason for existence was to be used however his master saw fit.

Rose slowly became detached, as though he were a ghost hovering outside his body, watching helplessly as a feral beast fed on his life’s essence. A beast who _owned_ him. Whose lap he had entered freely, whose clutches he couldn’t escape if he wanted to.

And he _didn’t_ want to. This was where he belonged. The _only_ place he belonged. Wasn’t this better? It was so much easier, not having a choice, fulfilling his entire life’s purpose by simply existing. His master was his entire world, and he was his master’s.

_“That’s right. You are mine. Now and forever…”_

“ma...master…” Rose cooed softly, closing his eyes, blindly grasping at the cloth of his master’s trousers beneath him. His master was so _good_ to him, giving him so many nice things, all for the paltry price of some magic and his subservience. He wanted to give his master everything, every part of him, feel him ravishing his body, feasting on his SOUL, feel the full force of his absolute domination...

“There, all done.”

Rose’s eye sockets snapped open. In front of him was his bedchamber, dimly lit but otherwise completely as he remembered.

“...done?”

“Yes, that will do quite nicely,” the Count said faintly. His tongue ran across Rose’s neck once more, causing a shiver to rush up the little skeleton’s spine. Two pricks of pain flared up on the sensitive bones, then quickly ebbed, fading to nothing. The Count gently turned Rose in his lap, placing one hand on his back and tilting him downward, until he was mildly cradled in his arms like a doll.

His intense eye lights gazed tenderly into Rose’s overbright, glazed-over sockets. “Dearest Rose, that was delicious. I thank you. Truly, you are the best thing to have crossed my threshold in centuries.”

The smaller skeleton was speechless, staring dumbly at the Count’s face. Not a drop of magic remained on his fangs or mouth. It was completely clean, and his expression showed only warm delight. Save for the unnamed glint in his eye sockets, Rose could almost imagine he hadn’t just been feeding on his life force.

“Don’t you agree, my pet?” he asked, gently stroking Rose’s face with the back of his fingers. They felt so cool...was he blushing?

Rose swallowed. “y...yes, master.”

“Good.” Papyrus leaned forward and planted a small kiss on his forehead, causing Rose to blush even further. Stars, he could almost see the red glowing back off his master’s face.

“Now, off to bed with you, love. We have a big day tomorrow.”

“we do?—oh!” The Count stood abruptly, holding the smaller skeleton bridal style with one arm as he pulled back the sheets with the other. He gently lowered Rose onto the sheets, taking extra care with his head and neck.

“Yes, we do. Tomorrow I have a meeting with the Council.” He folded and tucked the sheets tightly, gingerly brushing them smooth. “It is a group of monsters selected by the king to serve as advisors, of sorts. Influential monsters in business, produce, landholdings, et cetera.”

Rose’s eye sockets widened. “what...what do you mean ‘we?’ are you taking me, too?”

The Count chuckled softly. “Of course, my dear, why wouldn’t I? You are my vassal, an important part of my household. It is only appropriate that I introduce you to those I commonly have business dealings with.”

Rose shifted slightly in the sheets—about the only movement he could manage after being so thoroughly tucked in. “but, what am i supposed to do? i don’t know the first thing about—”

Papyrus placed a finger on Rose’s mouth, silencing the still-blushing skeleton. “Now, now. Don’t you worry about any of that. You will do well, I am sure of it. We’ll discuss it more in the morning.” He straightened and tapped the crystal on the bedside table, dimming it to its lowest setting. “Have sweet dreams, my Rose. I will see that you’re awoken in time for breakfast.”

“okay…” Rose squirmed a bit more, trying to loosen the cocoon of sheets practically binding his arms to his sides. “you too, master.”

He couldn’t see the Count’s smile as he walked away, but he knew it was there by the way he spoke. “I shall, my love. I shall.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does a person need to sleep in order to dream? Hmm…
> 
> Next time: the Council! Who’s on it? Why is it called that? What exactly do they do? Find out next time! It will be a lot less boring that it sounds, I promise. While there will be plenty of gratuitous smut to come, I’ve also got quite a few plans for this AU as a whole, and how this version of the Underground works. As well as more members of the house staff! I’m so excited about these characters, guys.
> 
> Boy look at this healthy relationship blossoming between these two! So cute, so happy, so balanced. I’m sure it will last! But geez Papyrus be careful tucking the poor thing in, one might start to think you’re a bit possessive or something…
> 
> Papyrus is going to have to feed pretty often, at least if he feeds this way. There are other ways he can feed which are more...filling, which we’ll see later >:3 
> 
> Also fun fact: Two of those books Rose picked up actually exist! The one on the planets was Copernicus’s book on the heliocentric universe, and the other was a popular book on manners and etiquette written around the Renaissance-ish period. One he picked up because he was genuinely interested, the other he picked up because it seemed like a practical choice given his new...profession? Position? Role? You choose the right word!

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another multi-chapter saga has begun! The amount of worldbuilding this concept inspired is kind of ridiculous. And you'll be getting more of it in future chapters! Why does Papyrus want Sans alive? What does Sans think of his new "living arrangement?" What does this have to do with the beast of Snowdin? Stay tuned to find out~
> 
> Papyrus' second outfit was inspired by Howl from Howl's Moving Castle. I figured he'd probably have a more casual outfit for bed, haha.
> 
> OH, and before I forget, the title is a reference to the book a Feast Of Roses, where a woman becomes the I think 22nd wife of a Persian king, and uses her position to gain power and influence over the land. But the title isn’t quite the same...who ends up manipulating who here, hm?
> 
> The next story to come out will be day 18's prompts, leather and masturbation! Featuring Underfell Sans~


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